


Mixing and Matching

by eyrist



Series: Melodies of The Soul [1]
Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, DJ!akira, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Abuse, Pining, Slow Burn, Violence, actor goro, akeshu - Freeform, dancer!akechi, it'll make sense eventually :))), reupload, shuake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-01-16 16:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 214,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21273941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyrist/pseuds/eyrist
Summary: Tokyo— Where the skies were blue, the streets held secrets, and the red light district danced under strobelights and the darkness.Akira Kurusu made it big as an underground DJ by the age of 18 under the stage name Joker. By the time he hit 21 years old, he had erected his own club in the heart of Shinjuku’s infamous red light district, curiously named ‘The Metaverse.’And then there’s Goro Akechi, age 22 and a rising star in Tokyo’s world of dance— who’s promptly half-dragged to the club by his friend one night. There’s a reason why, even after a year, he continues to go to The Metaverse; spoiler alert, it’s not entirely because of the hot DJ’s music.The tales of their lives are spun by notes and melodies, weaving together like the tracks under Joker’s hands. With each beat, the two dance around each other in a game of push and pull; high-risk, high-reward.One could only wonder, though, what other secrets Joker keeps hidden in the shadows of The Metaverse.





	1. Prelude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [M&M Visual Thread](https://twitter.com/relictionism/status/1248252681065361408)

Tokyo was hardly a city one could call quiet, what with its bustling streets and a seemingly-endless number of tourist spots. Life buzzed around the city, people moving in and out of the shops, streaking from one place to another; some, one could say, even slipped into places unknown.  
On the surface, it was all anime and culture, all themed cafes and bubbly, cute everything. In the right place and time, though? When the dusk set and the night began? It was almost like being transported into a different world.

Enter the maze of Tokyo's red light district. If you twisted and turned through the alleyways and passages of the urban area, looked hard enough (or just had fate favour you,) you would find yourself in a place like none other. You would find yourself peering into the entrance of a collective gathering of energies and desires.

Even from the outside, the red strobelights from within bled onto the asphalt of the street. Stepping closer to the entrance, one could feel the vibrations of the beat underneath their shoes, the blaring music getting louder, less muffled. Above the stairwell in twisted, red neon, a sign would read, "The Metaverse."

Entering the Metaverse would at first feel like descending into Hell with each step down the stairs one took into the melting pot of sin and secrets, but after stepping through the door the experience would shift quite a bit-- Time slowed. Senses would heighten. Hearts pounded. The night felt longer. Life, here, seemed to change.

Perhaps the first thing one Goro Akechi noticed about the club long ago on his first time there, was not the red and black motif, nor the stench of alcohol, not even the music that surrounded him; it was, perhaps, the man that stood above it all, whose face was split in a grin and whose eyes spelled a love only for the moment he lived in.  
On the stage at the furthest wall back, towering above the dance floor where bodies meshed and danced, held a number of different equipment for mixing music. Speakers towered the sides of the stage in rows. Lights (displaying patterns similar to those at the entrance) framed the entire setup from above and bathed most of the dance floor (and its inhabitants, in extension) in red streaks in the dark-- And in the midst of it all, looking as if he embodied the music, stood underground Tokyo's hottest DJ, known only as Joker.

The man in question would always be found at his usual spot above the crowd, body moving in time to the beats he served. With headphones on his ears and with his hands on his turntables, he'd bob his head at the least, but when Joker got into the zone, his hips would sway. Whenever he dropped the beat, he'd do a jump on the spot, eyes closed and immersed in all the elements that he played. Joker made a show of himself as the charismatic DJ one with his music, and it was just the thing that made his popularity skyrocket (aside from his tracks, of course.) In his club, he was the one that caught everyone's eyes, the one who was paid the most attention to with his flashy smiles and mixing skills, his chemistry with his audience that made the party last well into the early hours of the day.

Joker had The Metaverse in the palm of his hand, and with each visit Goro Akechi subsequently made into the club, he could feel himself getting more and more swept up into the kind of high only dancing in a sweaty, booze-scented mosh pit could bring.


	2. Track 01

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the daily lives of our two boys.

_Breathe. **Breathe.**_  
  
He found sometimes that he wouldn’t be doing that each time he faced his audience— That sometimes his breath would catch in his throat and he was only living in the moment as he teetered on the brink of running out of oxygen.

Joker had come to the conclusion that he was hyperaware some time ago. Seeing it all on a stage that towered the mass of people shifting and dancing to the beat of his drum before him, the man could swear that he saw _everything_, darkness be damned. He saw each silhouette, every muscle movement, _all_ of the little details in slow motion. It was as if time ticked slower in his eyes despite the quickly ascending tempo of the final song he played for tonight.

The drop was nearing. Joker felt his heart swell.

“Dance!” he shouted into the microphone, the grin on his lips toothy and joyful. The song had reached its apex and Joker inhaled deeply.

A rush of adrenaline flooded his system as the heavy bass shook the DJ to his bones. He realised he’d landed back on his feet after his signature “drop jump” then, eyes shut tight. Heart pounding, skin tingling, Joker let his body move to the rhythm freely. The thumping in his chest could’ve been his heart beating in-sync to the tempo or the stomp of feet in front of him, but as far as he was concerned, _this_ was euphoria— Just _this_, the height of the party, the smell of sweat and booze in the air, the _freedom_.

It was definitely the freedom.

Re-opening his eyes, Joker felt the familiar surge of pride bloom in his chest witnessing the party’s energy multiply tenfold as the song continued, heavy waves and drumbeats bouncing around the walls of the club. That saying about shadows dancing in the dark? Before him, the large crowd spelled the vision perfectly: Black silhouettes moved and shifted and grinded against one another while the flashing strobelights from overhead only bathed them in a glowing red ever so briefly. His audience was swept up in the music. They danced like tomorrow wouldn’t come. 

It was at times like these that Joker felt like he was actually _high_: It was all _pleasure_, pure _living_ at its finest. It was the peak satisfaction that DJ-ing gave him, what made everything worth it.

When the final beat of the song rang in the air, Joker stepped back as he let his arms fall from the turntables, swinging so far back that he’d bowed forward simultaneously. Sweat stuck to his forehead and torso. His eyes were wide and his breaths were heavy and laboured. Even so, as he lifted his head to the applause directed at him, the smile that pulled up from the corners of his lips were giddy, happy.

With one foot crossed over the other, his left arm over his stomach and the other raised up, Joker took a proper bow— One reminiscent of broadway showmen with his dramatic flairs, wide arm sweeps, and the air of confidence that surrounded him. Under the spotlight, the crimson of his fingerless leather gloves shone brightly.

* * *

The time couldn’t have been no later than 3 AM when the last, drunken customer had gone out the door. By that point, the blindingly bright lights hanging from the ceiling had been switched on for cleaning to begin, revealing the dark grey and red stripes of the walls and the wooden flooring.

In the middle of the now-empty dance floor, Akira looked up, broom held between his gloved hands.

The ground level was really the only level with an actual floor for the public area. From the ceiling above the sides of the second level hung black, metal rails that formed one, big balcony with an open space in the middle.  
The ground level really only consisted of the stage, the dance floor that was directly below the open space of the second level, and Yusuke’s station (the bar) pushed in the lower right corner of the room, seen immediately if you took one step into the club and turned your head. Aside from so, there were two doors beside the bar that led to two separate bathrooms for ladies and gents, and metal staircases from either sides of the room that led to the second level. The second level’s function was mainly to be the seating area, and so only consisted of plain, black wooden chairs around circular, white tables arranged throughout the space.  
The white door on the left wall at the corner, though? No customer ever entered there. In fact, no one but Akira really knew where that led to, or what was even behind the door. None of the staff ever questioned him again after initially bringing it up, as he’d just smiled at them and kept quiet; The few brave clubgoers that actually did try to open the door found that it was locked, and the ones that had lockpicks? They usually had the club’s bouncer, Ryuji, promptly escort them to the door, if not thrown out (literally.)

Akira chanced a glance at Ryuji just then, who was busy helping Yusuke collect glasses from the second level. He was lean, alright, but Akira was confident that the blonde man could very well haul (his) ass to distances unknown. He decided to look back down onto the mess he had to clean from the dance floor when it looked like Ryuji was about to notice him staring.

Cleanup of the entire club lasted just half an hour with the three of them working together, desperate for rest before the sun rose. When they’d tucked their cleaning supplies back into the corner cabinet of the bar, Akira went to double-check if he’d unplugged everything from his stage, swiped his laptop up from its stand then jogged the distance to where Yusuke and Ryuji awaited him by the entrance.

Ryuji decided to speak up after all of them stepped outside into the air of an April spring’s night, Akira having just locked up the door to The Metaverse.

“Good job tonight.”

Ryuji was smiling and Akira guessed it was because he could finally get some sleep. He could relate, though.  
Beside him, Yusuke had nodded in agreement to their bouncer. If you looked at him closely, the exhaustion was now apparent in the younger man’s eyes, extended socialisation no doubt having worn him out again. Still, Yusuke managed to reply optimistically despite his tired tone.

“We did do a good job, didn’t we?”

“As good of a job as always,” Akira agreed, patting his friends’ backs simultaneously. He gave them both a once-over with his eyes as he smiled at them.

“Thanks again for the hard work. Get home safe and get some rest.”

“Aight. I’m goin’ to crash as soon as I get to my bed. Have a good night, guys!” Ryuji had given them a little wave as he began stepping backwards, afterwards putting his hands in his pockets and turning on his heel.

Yusuke soon left as well after giving Akira an “I’ll be taking my leave as well. Goodnight.”

And then he was alone.

When his friends disappeared into different streets, Akira stretched his arms upwards as he began striding towards the small alleyway beside The Metaverse, a yawn escaping his lips. He half-climbed, half-dragged himself up the stairs at the side of the building until he’d reached the third floor, now standing in front of a black door. Though he was dead tired (actually half-asleep by that point,) hundreds of nights of practise had prepared him for this— Punching his code into the electric lock beside the entrance of his home separating him and his apartment.

To hear the _beep_ of his door unlocking and granting him passage was enough to bring a small smile onto his lips as he pushed through it, lazily toeing off his sneakers by the shoe rack. Before he proceeded further into his home, he made sure to at least press the light switches beside the door, and though it did nothing for the apartment, he could at least sleep knowing the lights at the club weren't on all night.

The DJ yawned again, though this time nearly fell against the wall while he walked into the living room in his half-awake stupor. Damn, Akira really _was_ tired.

He took a glance at the couch.

_Tempting._

His back would hurt in the morning, though. Well—_Afternoon_, if we were to be honest here. What was he willing to deal with in his state?

Akira’s eyes travelled from the door that led to his bedroom (ten steps away + five more steps to his bed,) to the couch in the living room (seven steps, maximum.) He hummed blankly, considering the pros and cons of his options, though the man knew already by the stagger in his steps and the light-headedness he felt that there was no other choice. He’s made his decision.

_Sleep is sleep. Fuck it._

* * *

Early morning air was perfect for cycling around town, Akechi concluded. After all, it had been in his morning routine for the past— what now? Three years? It’d been since he’d moved into an apartment with Ann, right. It was only after then that he could actually have time in the early hours of the day to do whatever he pleased, so of course, he chose to do something that was both productive _and_ his favourite thing to do— Which is why he was on his bicycle around the Yongen-jaya neighbourhood at six-thirty in the morning.

The place was the next neighbourhood over beside where he and Ann lived, but despite being so close, Akechi never really thought of passing by the area before. Usually, the brunette would go straight to Shibuya, then head to Inokashira Park, before cycling back home— Sometimes, he’d stop by the shops on his way for groceries.

Not today, though.

Today, Akechi made a last-minute decision (prompted by a _whim_, of all things) to go to Yongen-jaya. Roaming the area made him kind of regret not going through the place earlier as he rode by the buildings, taking in as much as he could see. With each turn deeper into the neighbourhood, he had his head facing this way and that, eager to add more establishments to the mental list of places he wanted to visit with Ann.

_She’d probably love the local restaurants here._

The dancer could imagine Ann taking her girlfriend here, and chuckled quietly upon further conjuring the image of Ann and Shiho, holding hands as they walked through the neighbourhood together.  
They were a cute couple. It was something that Akechi found he envied (though he would never admit it) but he was happy all the same for the two. His best friend’s happiness was his happiness, after all.

When the roads narrowed and the hustle and bustle of Yongen-jaya waking up faded into background noise around him, Akechi decided to hop off his bike and start strolling the rest of the way, hands still gripping the handles. He’d been circling the neighbourhood for around about an hour at that point on his bike, and his stomach was starting to grumble with the need for food.

Eventually, he came across a shop selling various trinkets, furniture and secondhand gadgets. Akechi rested his bicycle against the wall next to the store then leaned over the table displaying an assortment of pendants and earrings tucked into a wooden chest, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Food can wait.

As he scanned through the wares for sale, he heard a voice speak up from beside him.

“Looking for anything in particular, sonny?”

Akechi stood upright from his bent position then, looking over to the elderly man that must’ve ran the shop. Offering him a polite smile, the brunette shook his head, “Honestly, I was only fascinated by these pendants. The person who made them has quite an imaginative mind, if I do say so myself.”

The shop owner reached over to the chest. One by one, he spread the pendants in a line across the table, and Akechi was able to admire the various designs in full view before him. The pendants were all about double the size of a 500-yen coin, most likely made of enamel judging by the shine they reflected. Akechi counted them all with his eyes.

One black cat head, 8 different mask designs, and 22 card designs.

The cat one was just as unassuming as any other ordinary cat with its black nose surrounded by white fur in a triangle on its face, but what particularly caught Akechi’s attention was the cat’s eyes— A shining, azure blue, a sharp contrast against the black of its would-be fur. It almost felt like the cat was peering at him curiously just looking into those eyes. Before he looked over to the first of the masks, Akechi noted the yellow scarf below the cat’s chin.

The first mask was simple— Just a black shell that looked contoured to a specific face. It was the kind of mask you thought about when you heard the word “Musketeer.” At least, that’s what Akechi would’ve said.  
Though sleek and simple, it gave off a vibe that said “classy” but “powerful.”

The second mask (well, probably only the assuming would even consider it that) came in the form of black goggles with the tiniest hint of a green undertone. The lenses were a bright red-orange, large and judging. The goggles looked back at Akechi like it was challenging him, he thought. It might have just been his empty stomach telling him that, though.

The third mask took the phrase “iron fist” and reformed it into eyewear. To Akechi, it looked cold and demanding, like the eyes of a correctional officer. He decided not to linger any more on that mask, seeing as it felt like its bearer was ready to cuff him then throw him into a cell. Who knew his imagination would get so creative when he was hungry?

The fourth mask was by far the most pleasant to Akechi thus far. It was the familiar kitsune mask he often saw during festivals, though somehow, the red accents around the white porcelain seemed brighter, the delicate slant of the eyes seemed ever more mischievous— As are all foxes depicted in fables, Akechi concluded. For some reason, though, this particular kitsune mask appeared both cold and warm in the same breath. The imagination of Akechi’s hunger knew no bounds.

The fifth mask immediately reminded Akechi of that bad movie he and Ann had watched together for shits and giggles— That live-action of Neko Lady? And yes, it was entirely because the fifth mask was exactly that: A bright red mask carved into the shape of a cat’s face, complete with ears poking up from the top. He could never deny that the first thing that popped into his head was the black, leather cat mask Neko Lady wore for the entirety of the movie.  
Though the movie this mask _may_ or _may not_ have been based on (for all Akechi knew) wasn’t even “so bad it’s good” (it was just _bad_ bad) he could still feel the immense fierceness of the mask glaring back at him. If it were an actual mask, Akechi bet Ann would rock the look, both in appearance and vibe.

The sixth mask was shaped into a skull, upper row of teeth and everything. It was a steely black, meant to look like metal and a cross between Pirates of the Pacific Ocean and Mansion/Impossible. A thief/pirate mix, maybe? But weren’t those basically the same thing? Well, pirates _were_ usually only found at sea..

Looking over at the seventh mask pendant laying before him, Akechi felt himself take in a sharp breath. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but the white, birdlike domino mask that stared back at him made him feel just the faintest bit of melancholy— Completely out of the blue. It was peculiar no matter which angle you looked at it from; it was just a pendant, after all.  
He felt his heartstrings tug just a bit as he forced his eyes off the black accents stemming from the eye holes, finally studying the final mask.

Red, with an elongated nose. It looked sharp.  
Initially, Akechi’s mind went to the plague doctors of old, but after scanning the mask further, he thought of Pinocchio— The wooden puppet who wanted to be a real boy, whose nose lengthened with each lie that slipped past his lips. His chest tightened the more he looked at the mask, fingers only briefly hovering above the pendant before he forced his arm back onto his side. Damn, _he_ was being dramatic today.

Akechi didn’t bother peering into what the feelings these mask pendants had brought him further. It was all just him being hungry and possibly hallucinating. Yeah, that was probably it. He just needed a good breakfast and he’d be right as rain.

Before he decided to leave, though, he took a quick sweep over the 22 remaining pendants— All cards of white borders and fuchsia backgrounds, portraying each of the major arcana of tarot. Huh.

“Old friend of mine in Inaba made and shipped them to me,” The shop owner finally spoke again after Akechi’s elongated silence as he studied the collection, “Said an odd fellow commissioned them and told him to get it to my shop. Told him to “_leave it to fate_” or some other.”

“Well, they’re certainly very intriguing.” Akechi looked back at the man’s face and away from the collection. The minuscule smile hadn’t left his lips, though he just felt _weird_ about it now. It felt like the small laugh he sounded before he spoke again was a defence mechanism.

“Maybe he blessed them with auras, too?” the dancer joked.

The old man could only smile back at him, shaking his head solemnly, “May be.”

As Akechi began gathering his bike again, the shop owner pointed down the little corridor right in front of his shop, his other hand behind his back.

“Your stomach’s been growling the entire time you were looking at the pendants, sonny. Leblanc usually opens around this time, so you should get something to eat.”

Wait, really? Well, his internal comments from earlier mostly _did_ allude to his lack of breakfast.

Akechi only bowed awkwardly and nodded, a sheepish smile now adorning his features. Maybe it was for the best he ate already before going back to the apartment.

After Akechi thanked the old shop keeper for his time, he set off just a little ways down the path he was pointed to. It didn’t take very much searching until the dancer found himself staring up at a red and white sign, the words "_coffee&curry Leblanc"_ printed on the fabric in Roman alphabet. Beside him, a small stand read “_Café Leblanc_” and by the door, placed atop a wooden chair, was a blackboard with prices written neatly in various colours of chalk. The sign hanging from the door itself read “_Open_.”

Even from outside, Akechi could smell the tantalising scent of mixed spices melting onto one another, and as if on cue, his stomach cried out its demand. Curry in the morning didn’t sound bad at all.

Having made up his mind, he parked his bike on the wall opposite the entrance before pushing open the door and stepping into Leblanc, the ring of a bell above his head announcing the arrival of a customer. Immediately, the smell of curry and coffee wafted into his nose, Akechi to inhale deeply at that moment. He was _so_ glad he decided to go to Yongen-jaya. 

“Welcome.”

The voice that greeted him was deep, comforting in the way a bartender would speak, and when Akechi looked to the only other person in the establishment, he found grey eyes staring back at him.

The barista looked middle-aged, apparent in the crow’s feet littered on the outer corners of his eyes and the graying hairs on his head. Despite so, in his black, pinstripe apron, he looked homely. Akechi got strong ‘comforting dad’ vibes off of him, but what did he know about good fathers? Still, the older man definitely gave off the feeling.

Akechi took the seat closest to him at the bar, offering a smile up at the man. The smell of good food so close was _amazing_.

“What’ll it be?” the barista asked, to which Akechi almost-instantly responded with, “Curry, please.”

As the man went into the café’s kitchen, Akechi took the chance to let his eyes wander around the establishment.

Three booths (consisting of identical wooden sofas with light brown upholstery and rectangular, white tables) lined the wall behind him, where small shelves hung by the walls decorated by cityscape wallpaper. Each booth was illuminated by a bulb hanging from the low ceiling above each table, covered only by multi-coloured, glass shades. On the bar where he sat at were the cash register, a yellow rotary dial phone, various jars of spices (arranged from largest to smallest) and a short row of books, while on the left side of the counter were different types of coffee-brewing equipment. Behind the bar were three shelves, all containing an assortment of coffee beans. It was an impressive collection, Akechi noted.

What caught his eye in the entirety of the room, though, was the painting that hung in the corner on his right. It depicted a woman in red, eyes gingerly gazing down upon a baby she cradled in her arms. He would’ve missed it if he wasn’t sitting at the edge of the bar, and when Akechi was about to start making his way to stand in front of the piece to examine it further, a plate of curry and rice was set before him.

His head turned to the barista, who had been smiling at him. His arms were now crossed above his chest, he himself eyeing the painting now as well.

“Like the painting, kid?” Akechi could only nod in reply, not having much to say.

“It was given to the café by a young artist once upon a time ago. Sayuri’s been here for around three years now,” the barista informed him.

Akechi’s lips pursed into a thin line, gaze now down onto his food.

“_Sayuri_, huh?”

“The artist that gave Leblanc Sayuri still comes by a lot. Maybe you’ll catch him here sometime.”

Akechi was midway into digging his spoon into the rice when the man had said that. He peered up at him, hands still on his utensils. Before he had a chance to reply, though, the barista changed the topic.

“So what brings you here at this time of day? Never seen you around before, too.”

Akechi decided to at least get two bites in before he answered because goddamn was the curry _good_, and it wasn’t just his empty stomach saying that.

“I’ve actually lived near the area for a while now. It’s just my first time going around Yongen-jaya and the shop owner of the secondhand store near Leblanc pointed me here,” Akechi gestured to the plate of food before him, “I left the house without any breakfast, though.”

Feeling like he gave a sufficient answer, Akechi took another bite of his curry. The barista’s features had twisted, ever so slightly, into an expression Akechi couldn’t quite read into, with eyes widening a millimetre too high, lips parting slightly for a split second, but the older man quickly recovered. He tried not to judge nor pry into what it might’ve been, but the looming anxiety that he might’ve said something off reared its ugly head. Akechi decided to push it into the very back of his mind— He didn’t need this at breakfast at the moment.

“I see,” the barista began once more, voice just the _tiniest_ bit choked. He coughed once.

_Odd_.

“Well, if that’s the case, let me at least introduce myself. Some people call me Boss, but the name’s Sojiro,” the barista (Sojiro, now) said, right hand reaching out across the bar to prompt a handshake. Akechi returned the gesture and shook Sojiro’s hand, head bobbing in a single, curt nod as he did.

“My name is Goro Akechi. It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Sojiro.”

Breakfast had passed uneventfully after their introductions to each other.  
Akechi, a few minutes into conversation with him, conluded that Sojiro had a naturally calming air around him. The café-owner (as Akechi had found out) told him bits and pieces about Yongen-jaya and Leblanc as he enjoyed his meal, nodding with each piece of information he was told. At one point, there was a comfortable silence that befell them as Akechi finished up breakfast and the barista was in the kitchen, only the sound of pots boiling and the whistle of coffee equipment present in the air. His time in Leblanc was pleasant.

Before leaving, Akechi paid for his meal and made sure to tell Sojiro about how he enjoyed his experience at Leblanc, the older man only waving him off with a small smile as the dancer exited the café. Akechi would definitely come back.

The bicycle ride back to his apartment served to enforce the route he’d taken to Leblanc into memory, and once he’d arrived back home, the first thing he did (after taking off his shoes and storing them away neatly, of course) was sit down next to Ann on the stool next to hers at the breakfast counter. Ann raised an eyebrow at him, sandwich left half-uneaten on the plate before her.

“_You’re_ home later than usual,” she stated after glancing at the wall clock behind her roommate. Akechi only nodded, smile on his lips.

“Something good happen to you on your cycling, or..?” Ann was smiling as well now despite the subtle implications in her tone, backed up only by her eyebrows wiggling at him. It didn’t put a bumper on Akechi’s mood, though, no. You don’t become best friends with someone for three years without the inappropriate joking part. Still, he didn’t stop himself from nudging her side with his elbow.

“I just found somewhere really nice today and I _need_ to take you there when we’re free. I think you’d like it.”

Ann slapped his back then, which took Akechi by surprise— Evident in how he’d nearly fallen off his seat. Regardless, the woman only beamed at him, model-worthy smile on her cheeks.

“Alright, but don’t forget that after we finish work today I’m taking you out tonight! _No_ backing out!”

The skin where he’d been slapped hurt, but Akechi managed a chuckle all the same.

* * *

If Akechi was sure of anything, it was that he was practically _bathing_ in his own sweat. The air-conditioning of the studio couldn’t do much against how vigorous and physically-demanding his choreography for the week was.

“Ten-minute break is wrapping up, guys! Get your water, stretch, and we’re taking it from the top before filming begins!” 

The time was 8:30 PM and it was the last class he taught for today. Akechi was still a bit winded after their last run throughout the dance— His muscles were tired, his heart was still pounding, and he was nearing his limit, but _damn_ if he didn’t love the feeling of it all. Dancing was his life.

Leaning against the wall next to the mirrors, he gulped down water, took a deep breath to steady his heart then jogged over to the stereo system on the other side of the room. His class was already getting back to their respective spaces on the floor, all of them facing the mirror. Some were stretching, some even looked as energetic as when the class began, and when Akechi pressed play and the first few notes before the section he’d made choreography for began, he stood in place at the side. On final runs, he fancied watching his class instead of leading them at the front.

“5, 6, 7, 8!” he counted right before the start of the dance began.

“_So you wanna party, so you wanna dance!_”

Akechi began clapping to the beat, head bobbing up and down, foot tapping by the heel. He wanted to actually dance the choreography he was so proud of right then but decided to conserve the rest of his energy until the cameraman was there to record them. It was going to be another video up for the studio’s YouTube channel, after all, and Akechi aimed to impress.

“_I put a twist in my hips, kiss on my lips-“_

Akechi couldn’t help the cheers that left him to hype up the dancers, something he sometimes wouldn’t even _realise_ he was doing. The smile spread wide across his cheeks threatened to split his face in two as he watched them move along to the music.  
_Damn_ was he proud of his students— They were so incredibly _good_ at dancing, and seeing them take his choreography and move it to their own style and add their own quirks brought immense amounts of pride and joy to the choreographer.

When the instrumental chorus of the song dropped and the dancers _kick-ball-change_’d like there was no tomorrow with that _spunk_ and _energy_ he so loved seeing, Akechi was _giddy_. On his spot beside the stereo, he laughed, the sound pure delight.

It felt so _rewarding_ to be the reason somebody enjoyed to dance, the reason someone improved their dancing, or just had an overall good time. Years ago, he never would’ve thought that he’d even get _close_ to where he was then. Time changed that.

When the choreography finished, Akechi kept clapping— Though not to the beat, no. He was clapping out of pride and happiness. It was a _success_, visible to him in the simplest of smiles that his students beamed at him, in the claps and cheers that soon joined his, and in the subsequent group hug perpetuated by one dancer that were followed by the others.

Holy fuck. Holy _fuck_ was the feeling amazing.

“You guys ready to show the world what you can do?” his voice rang out amongst the room, followed by a collective response, as eager as his.

“Yeah!”

* * *

“Hello, mister ‘_twist on my hips_!’”

Ann strode into the studio from her own just-finished class, bag and water bottle in hand. She found her best friend sitting by the stereo system, back against the mirror with a bottle of water of his own lifted to his lips. Akechi already felt the sore muscles he’d have tomorrow, but to Hell with that. He felt _good_.

“And hello to you, too, miss ‘_ka-ka, ka-ka_,’” Akechi replied in turn, shoulders moving with each ‘_ka_’ he sounded in an imitation of her choreography. He was grinning at Ann as she moved to slump down next to him. Her water bottle approached his, and he couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled from the depths of his throat as he bumped the lid of his bottle to hers. Class must’ve gone well for the both of them, and he was glad.

“Cheers to another job well done!” Ann cheered, her laugh hearty before she took a big swig of her water. Nearly finishing her bottle only proved to Akechi that she had as good of a session as he did, if not better.

“So where to now?” Akechi asked, storing his water bottle into his backpack, “Are we going to Ogikubo for dinner or do you have _other_ plans for us?”

It was at that exact moment after he finished speaking that Ann’s smile turned from sweet to devilish in the span of one question. Her own water bottle was safely tucked away as she stood up, pulling Akechi up by his arm. He couldn’t really resist.

“_We_,” she began, eyeing up at him with that _glint_ in her eyes. She still held onto his arm, leaving him no chance to escape.

Akechi already knew where this was going. He glanced at himself in the mirror, assessing his appearance.

“.. Are diving head-first into The Metaverse tonight!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so my wordcount goal for each chapter is roughly 3K words-- and that got completely thrown out the window in the two days i dedicated to writing chapter 1, so enjoy this 5K-word long introduction !!  
i wanna give a m a s s i v e thanks to my beta, harvey !! next chapter may come out this week, so stay tuned !
> 
> listen list (songs that got me through this chapter)  
dj jo - kisetsu wa tsugitsugi shindeiku remix  
dj jo - sparkle remix  
dj jo - lost woods remix  
bts - fake love  
bts - blood, sweat and tears  
persona 5 ost - beneath the mask  
persona 5 ost - life will change  
icona pop - emergency (*the song during akechi's class)  
stefflon dion - 16 shots (*the song akechi hinted was ann's choreography song)


	3. Track 02

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ann and goro get a little too drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS OMG THE NEW P5R TRAILER DROPPED WHEN I WAS FINALISING THIS HAVE Y'ALL SEEN THAT GOOD SHIT OMG
> 
> if you wanna get into the mood of the chapter, i suggest looping this video lynne sent me when i was asking for advice:  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2qlqQt51CHA
> 
> A L S O !!  
just a warning:  
there are mentions of vomit in the hungover morning, so be warned !

“Ann, is it really a good idea for us to drink tonight? Or _that_ much?”

Ann knew he was relatively a lightweight— Ann was well-aware of what antics Goro could and _would_ very well get into when he was drunk, and so, heavily concerned, he decided to question his friend after she ordered vodka shots at the bar in The Metaverse. Ann only grinned at him and shook her head, though her eyes gaze stayed on the hands of the tall, lanky bartender currently pouring their shots.

“Our next classes are on Wednesday,” Ann reasoned, accepting the tray of shots the bartender had slid in front of her after leaving payment beside it. With practised ease, she lifted the tray then began making her way up to the second level and to their usual seats—The one where they got a perfect view of the DJ‘s face. Goro could only follow her, still a bit iffy and intimidated at the prospect of them downing fifteen shot glasses together.

Sitting down, Goro eyed one of the small glasses of vodka, lips pursed into a thin line. He trusted Ann (he really did) but something told him that she didn’t order this many shots for no reason at all. There weren’t any special anniversaries or events between them that he should be recalling, nor did anything really out of the ordinary happen that day. Besides, Ann wouldn’t drink vodka shots just _because_.  
Something was up.

Suspicious, his gaze raised to his friend, now squinting at her. Ann only fired back with the smile that showed off her perfect teeth, legs crossed as she leaned back into her chair.

There was something going on here, and Goro wasn’t very sure he liked it.

Still, he decided to go along with his friend. When Ann was persistent, she was _persistent_, and letting her take all those shots by herself would be a worse idea than he himself getting drunk for a night.

_If we finished this as early as possible, it lessens the chance of us running into trouble on the way home._

Goro picked up a glass and tipped it up over his lips. The taste of the alcohol was strong and bitter on his tongue, and though he didn’t necessarily dislike the punch to his tastebuds, he couldn’t say he fancied taking shots either. Maybe the vodka they got wasn’t very high-quality.

“Besides,” Ann began again, “Alcohol takes the edge off of you when you dance. I don’t know if you ever noticed that, though.”

He took another shot, feeling the burn of vodka run down his throat. Coughing once, he set the empty glass back down and let himself relax into his seat. He looked to Ann (who had taken a shot, too) and decided to pursue the topic.

“What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ on the last time we were here and you got drunk off your _ass_, you challenged Junji to a dance-off in the middle of the dance floor right in front of Joker,” Ann replied, tone even and matter-of-factly. He could see, though, that behind another vodka shot, she had a cheeky grin plastered on her cheeks.

Goro had to physically stop himself from spitting out the next shot he had brought to his lips then. He was coughing as his eyes darted to the DJ below them, back to his friend who began a laughing fit at the sight of him— The dancer’s eyes were wide, reminiscent of a deer caught in the headlights, and he almost fell off his seat from springing up quicker than his popping skills before she even finished her sentence.

“_What?!_”

Ann was clenching her side, her free hand covering her mouth. Goro could still hear the muffled sound of her laughter, and even caught the tears building up at the corners of her eyes.

She wiped them off before replying, “Poor Junji didn’t know what to expect,” -Ann laughed again, briefly-“You’re still a beast even if you’re drunk, by the way.”

At this point, Goro had covered his eyes with a hand, head facing the ground. To say he was simply _embarrassed_ would be the understatement of the year.

It didn’t take him very long, however, to assess how he even ended up drunk and dancing against his co-worker the week prior.  
It was their studio’s yearly celebration, a party among the choreographers and the staff to commemorate another year of the studio making it onto the scene. Of course, being the people-pleaser, Goro couldn’t bring himself to say no to drinking with them (“_It’ll just be three beers and I’m done_,” he remembers telling himself then) but that got completely thrown out the window when he got _way_ too drunk _way_ too early. How _that_ happened would probably remain a mystery to him for all time, and it was probably then that Goro wasn’t entirely conscious of his actions, lost most of the control in his body as the haze of drunkenness clouded his brain— and in extension, his better judgment.

“How much did I drink?” Goro finally managed to mutter, a deep inhale taken through his nose. He had no idea how Ann heard him over the loud music surrounding the club— Either his voice wasn’t as quiet as he thought, or she anticipated the question.

It took her a minute before she responded, and Goro knew she was doing the thing where she looked up towards the ceiling, index finger to her lips as she recounted the event.

“From what I remember, you had five beers, three shots of tequila, _and_,” Ann stretched out the ‘and.’ This couldn’t be good. “.. a blowjob shot with Kuramoto.”

_End me_.

Goro let himself groan for a prolonged amount of time as the information seeped into his brain. It hurt him physically as he was cringing— So much that he could actually _feel_ the pain in his head. 

Why did drunken Goro have to be the bravest piece of shit in the universe? The worst part wasn’t even the blowjob shot (Goro had made it clear long ago that he couldn’t care less about what people thought of him being gay,) it was that he challenged Junji into a dance battle. In _public_. Not even just in _public_, in The Metaverse where _Joker_ himself could see Goro— A _drunk_, _shit-faced_ Goro.

He had to take in a deep breath to calm his heart, head turned now to look at the aforementioned DJ again— The DJ who was _so_ far out of reach to Goro on that stage that the dancer questioned himself at times as to why he still even held out hope of.. He didn’t even _know_ what he wanted out of the man with jet black hair anymore. It frustrated him to no end, sometimes, not knowing what was drawing Goro to Joker.

Goro reached out for another shot, downing his fourth one with ease and setting down the glass. He didn’t know what numbed the burn that time, if it was the cringe or the embarrassment. Additionally, he didn’t know if the warm flush on his cheeks was the alcohol or the knowledge he possessed of what happened after blacking out at the celebration party.

“_God_.” Goro noticed the slight slur that dragged the word as he furrowed his brows. “And the dance battle? Don’t tell me people actually cleared space for us.”

Ann could only offer him a sympathetic smile, hand reaching out under the table to grasp his in (what he guessed was) a silent apology. What was he even expecting anymore? A _spotlight_?

Actually, no. He didn’t want to know if there was a spotlight on them or not.

“Look on the bright side, Goro,” Ann started, tone gentle as if she were treading carefully, “When you were dancing, Joker’s songs weren’t the usual heavy-bass house.”

Goro’s eyes looked to hers, a question in his gaze. Ann continued.

“It felt kinda like he was choosing songs that were for dancing, like he was playing songs for your battle specifically.”

_Oh God, Joker definitely saw us then. Fuck._

But there was a tiny part of Goro’s brain that revelled in the fact that, though it wasn’t under the _best_ of circumstances, Joker had seen him— That Joker had _acknowledged_ his existence.

Goro promptly decided to push that thought to the very back of his mind. It wasn’t like he’d even recognise Goro again, anyway. That drunken dance battle was the quick, fleeting moment that Goro’d been silently hoping for in the past year, and maybe he should be content that he even had the chance to make himself known to Joker.

Goro smiled to himself then, though it was bitter and pitiful, and set down the glass in his hand.

Oh, he’d taken another shot again. Maybe he should calm down a little bit. He was starting to lose sight of what he was doing.

“Ha. Did I at least dance”-_a hiccup_-“good?”

Ann chuckled before she herself downed a shot as well. After she set down her glass, she waved her hand, as if dismissing the thought.

“Like I _said_! You’re looser when you dance drunk, Goro!”

Ann was tipsy now, too. They were not being responsible adults _at all_, both of them about to get shit-faced drunk when no one else (who was sober) was going to be with them when they decide to go home. Well, at least Goro hoped his plan would get them out of The Metaverse before some _ungodly_ hour like 1 AM, when there were likely to be shady people loitering the streets than good citizens who wouldn’t look twice at two, drunk young people.

“_Really_,” Goro challenged Ann’s observation, fingers ghosting over the rim of one of the empty glasses. It made sense, after Goro gave it some thought.

Drunken Goro _did_ prove time and time again to be more confident than his usual self— More _daring_, rather. On the previous times he got drunk, he heard stories of himself that ranged along flirting with then giving Junji a lap dance, to outright bumping a poledancer off her pole to, and quote, “_show her how it’s done._” Those two incidents, as Ann hinted to him before, _may_ or may not have happened on the same night.

He cringed again. He’d have to give Junji an apology and a gift to make up for all the shit he’s pulled the older choreographer into when he was inebriated.

Goro took another shot. It may have been a bad idea to drink too much from now on (when he was with anyone else besides Ann, anyway) but he just decided that he needed to let go in that moment. He was too sober to deal with the information, and obviously Ann wanted them to enjoy their night.

He _will_, embarrassing stories and drunken, confident Goro be _damned_. He would _not_ let himself ruin their night together.

Ann had taken the initiative to down the rest of their shots after Goro felt like he couldn’t drink more than his seventh shot— And honestly? It was at that moment that Goro was glad that Ann was the heavyweight of them when it came to drinking. He could never quite figure out how she did it, and decided never to push it. Ann was mysterious in her own ways.

Still, even after getting seven shots of hard vodka into his system and letting himself go on a test-stand to see if he could still even remain upright without swaying or falling over (and seeing that it ultimately did just a _tiny_, teensy bit of that to his body) he and Ann decided to go to the dancefloor, their bags discarded on their seats. All they really held were extra shirts and their water bottles, nothing of note. Besides, though this was a club, most of the people in Japan still knew manners and morals.

This was fine. Totally.

At least, that’s what the drunken Ann and Goro told each other.

When the two stumbled down the stairs and stood at the edge of the crowd, Ann took Goro’s hand and pulled the man with her through the bodies. She weaved past the mass of people easily (though Goro couldn’t say the same for himself as he bumped into literally every person they passed by) until they reached the centre of the dance floor.

As the two began moving their hips, twisting and turning this way and that (in a way that they _knew_ looked good) Goro could feel his being lose itself to the music— could feel every sensation there was _to_ feel in the midst of bodies moving and dancing against one another.  
His heart beat in double time, his body felt like it was floating, and his head was in the clouds. It may have been the alcohol, or it may have been the confidence Goro suddenly found in his core, but when the song changed (the new one bass-heavy and sounding _sinful_) he found himself dancing freely, all body rolls and hands all over his body.

* * *

Joker thought it was only his eyes or the darkness playing tricks on him (maybe wearing those fake glasses did more harm than good) but when he spotted a familiar tuft of chestnut brown hair enter the club an hour and a half prior, his mind flashed to the memory of striking, red irises boring into his soul. Frankly, it was only due to pure _practise_ that he even managed to avoid a slip-up in DJ work when he felt the shot to his heart remembering what those eyes did to him.

But _now_— Holy shit, Joker felt his knees weaken.

That man was there again, on his dance floor and making Joker feel things he absolutely should _not_ be feeling while he was working.  
The way he moved made it clear he danced professionally, seeing as it stood out from the rest of the dancing in the club. Each muscle movement, each twist of the hips or each shake of his head looked specifically executed to entice and captivate— Which clearly worked, almost too easily actually. Joker was absolutely entranced by the way that body flaunted itself.

_Shit. Keep your eyes on the board, Joker._

Easier said than done.

Joker could remember each detail of the events of the week prior. He could remember the surprise he felt at witnessing the dance floor clear open a circle in the very centre; He could remember the way the two men looked at each other, daring and challenging; He could remember shifting the music from his usual trance and house mix to an impromptu DJ set tailored for the apparent dance battle that was happening in his club.

But most of all, out of everything, he could remember in great detail the gaze he found himself staring back at when the battle had ended, his lips parted and his mind blank for those few seconds of locked eye contact. Joker had never seen irises so intensely _red_ before.

Maybe Joker was masochistic. The thought occurred to him when the next song he played was the sexiest fucking song he had in his set for the night, a little piece that had looping lyrics and a bass heavier than the goddamn Earth. It was still club-appropriate, of course, but Joker dreaded how he’d fare looking into the crowd and catching sight of how that man with chestnut brown hair danced to this song.

When the beat dropped and the chorus began, Joker decided to lift his eyes from the board his hands worked.

“_I like you cuz you got that something that I need in my life so give it to me—_“

Hands clasped behind his head, arms raised above it, with hips swaying from side to side. He’d spin at times, but all throughout his dancing, the man kept his eyes closed. Joker couldn’t tear his own gaze away from him. 

It was only at the final drop of the song that the man revealed his eyes again slowly, _sensually_. They stared right at Joker, spelling fire and _sin_. The curve of his lips turned upwards into a sly _fucking_ smirk, and Joker knew he was gone.

The way the man looked at Joker sent a _clear_ message:

_‘I know you’re watching me and I love it.’_

Joker felt like he was hit with a ton of bricks as the song ended.

It took him a few seconds before he snapped out of the trance the man had pinned him in, scrambling internally to attend to DJ-ing. Of course, he kept up the aloof façade he slipped into whenever he was doing his job (he couldn’t ruin his reputation as the suave, charismatic DJ yet after all) but a second too late and he would’ve missed guiding the songs back to something more up his alley.

“Let’s turn the party back up!” he shouted into the microphone, transitioning the song into a faster-paced acid trance track he’d been working on.

When he’d shifted back into his comfort zone, Joker’s eyes searched the dark once more for that mop of brown hair.

He found that it was gone, and that he wouldn’t find it again for the remainder of the night.

* * *

“_Ann_.”

Goro regretted it.

Goro regretted it _so_ badly.

The headache he had going on felt like it was driving a nail down his forehead into his skull. In the fifteen minutes he’d been awake, he felt the need to vomit thrice, actually _did_ vomit once, and relocated his ass to the living room couch.

Ann was in the same state as Goro, though somehow she had it better than him— and at that, the man was highly confused. Didn’t _she_ drink more than him?

When Ann had emerged from her room sometime after Goro had clambered onto the couch, she had a migraine same as him, yes, but she still retained the ability to be able to walk upright. That, in and of itself, was something that made the man squint at her form slugging to the kitchen.

When she disappeared from his view, Goro turned to his side, facing the backrest of the couch. The sunlight streaming in through the windows and getting absorbed into his eyes made his head protest further. Having the blinds up didn’t seem very appealing all of a sudden.

Ironic how he would always be the first to say that sunlight in the morning was one of the most important things in waking up properly.

“How are you even _standing_ right now?” Goro mumbled into the cushions, voice only barely audible or coherent. Though their apartment was an open-spaced studio with only the breakfast bar behind the couch separating the living room from the kitchen, he didn’t much expect Ann to hear him.

From the kitchen, he heard a groan. _That_ was her reply, he guessed. Huh.

Goro forced himself to rise _slowly _into a sitting position—With high emphasis on _slowly_ or they would have to clean vomit off the carpet— before calling out to his friend.

“Ann, do we still have painkillers? I think I’m going to slam my head into the wall.”

_Ding_.

Was that the toaster?

After a quick few minutes, Ann emerged from the kitchen, a plate on one hand and two glasses of water cradled between her chest and free arm. She set the plate down onto the coffee table next to Goro before handing him both of the glasses.

“Scoot.”

Goro lifted his legs up to his chest, Ann letting herself fall onto the couch immediately after. With her head facing the ceiling, she pointed to the plate lazily.

“We gotta eat before we take meds.”

There sat a stack of toast on the plate, two for each of them. Beside the bread were four painkillers.

Though it was tempting to just down the drugs as soon as he saw them, Goro decided it was in his best interests to eat first. Hangover food would help.  
He set the glasses down onto the table and reached out to pluck one piece of toast from the plate— This he handed to Ann, the next he took for himself.

The two (more or less) enjoyed their quiet breakfast together despite the looming threat beneath Goro’s skin that he would vomit all of it up later on. He already felt queasy two bites into his first toast, but that didn’t stop him from finishing it up and getting to his next one.

Unsurprisingly, he found himself hungry— Starving, actually. They didn’t have any dinner the night before, if he remembered correctly.

“You planning on sleeping this off, too?” Ann inquired, though she was quiet. In response, Goro could only nod weakly as he finished up the last of his toast.

He took two of the pills from the table and popped both out of their containers, afterwards shoving them into his mouth.  
The pills were tasteless on his tongue, but it was then that he realised how _dry_ it was— He was _parched_, and so reached for the glass of water Ann had so graciously filled for him, finishing its contents in a matter of a minute.

Goro decided to wait for his roommate to finish up with her food and medication before he stood again, swaying a bit. Staying with her for the time being was the very least he could do for Ann getting him some food and water, too (_and_ medicine for the hangovers they had.)

“If you need me, I’m going to be in my room. If I’m not in there, don’t expect the bathroom to be vacant,” was all he managed to say before trudging back into his bedroom.  
They had that silent understanding between them that hangover mornings were just mornings best left to their own devices, that they would recover by themselves though help from the other would never be unwelcomed. Goro was honestly fully grateful for Ann and how she managed to deal with him, somehow.

Too bothered by the effort to close his door, Goro decided to leave it open. The moment between him standing and laying on his stomach on the bed passed without him noticing though the man didn’t complain one bit about it. He just needed and wanted _sleep_.

“Goodnight, Goro!” He heard Ann shout at him, to which he could only reply with a muffled “Goodnight” of his own. 

The time was 8 AM, a sunny Tuesday morning.

* * *

One must never forget their humble beginnings. This was what kept Akira at Leblanc, aside from the love of coffee he found he harboured on his first year working here.

He could never forget the time— It was when he met Sojiro, Futaba, and Ryuji, after all.  
Sojiro, though giving him the cold shoulder because of his record on the first few months he lived in the attic, eventually warmed up to Akira and was even the one to tell him that he could stay there after his probation period ended.   
Futaba, who helped him realise a larger potential in himself and who had been his literal _life-saver_, ended up becoming a little sister figure to him. She was someone he helped by slowly but surely re-integrating her back into society, and she made sure to return the favour in kind though sometimes still had trouble in social situations. He’d always have her back, though.  
And then, there was Ryuji— Ryuji, the hot-headed, kind-hearted boy he met under rainy skies in front of a closed shop near school; Who stuck by him and defended him; Who he stood shoulder to shoulder with in the most difficult of times; Ryuji who trusted him with his life and vice versa— His best friend.

They were the three people that got him through the living Hell of his one-year probation period. They stayed with him, laughed with him, and cared for him, and Akira could never quite find how to repay them back save for returning their kind gestures in turn.

The thought of how the friendships he had with these people lasting for over six years and counting brought a small smile to his lips as he wiped away at the surface of the bar counter, humming along to the jazzy melody playing from the small radio he brought down from the attic.

Don’t judge him now, he thought it completed the rustic, homely aesthetic of Café Leblanc— and he got Sojiro to agree with him, too.

“Did anything good happen at your club?” He heard Sojiro’s voice ask from beside him then. Akira could only shake his head, though the smile remained on his cheeks.

“Just the usual, Boss.” His relpy was easy, stretching out the ‘just’ if only to emphasise the normalcy of it.

Sojiro snorted, though he knew it was in good humour.

“Really, now? You look like you just cracked the secrets of the universe.” Akira laughed quietly at that. “Tell me what’s been making you so happy today, kiddo.”

Akira took the rag he’d been using to wipe the bar counter to the kitchen sink, humming lowly to himself as he passed by Sojiro.

The man had aged in the years Akira spent with him— The hair around his hairline started greying, the wrinkles on his forehead increased, and the younger man couldn’t count the number of times in a week that Sojiro would complain about his back hurting. Akira knew he was strong, but still. Sojiro made Akira concerned at times.

Washing the rag, Akira thought about his answer to the question Sojiro left hanging in the air. It didn’t make the atmosphere in Leblanc any bit of awkward, though, as the older man had already adjusted to how long Akira would sometimes take to give a reply. 

Silently, with only the sound of water running and the music on the radio filling the air, they let each other do their own thing.

“I guess it’s just that I’ve been thinking about how long it’s been already,” Akira offered after a prolonged amount of silence on his end, “It was around this time that I first got here, after all.”

Suddenly, he felt a large, warm hand atop his head. Sojiro patted his hair down briefly, the smile evident in his tone. Sojiro really did act like his dad at times but Akira would never complain about that.

“I guess it is. Six years already, huh?”

Akira nodded, his tone genuine and fond.

“Yeah.”

* * *

After their talk, Sojiro had excused himself saying that he had errands to run, and so left Leblanc in the care of none other than Akira.

Time passed quickly in the café, though the moments seemed slow. 

Akira would take orders, make coffee (or curry) and serve them— During so, he’d make small talk with the customers much like Sojiro did. When the café was empty, he’d sit on one of the bar chairs and watch TV or read the books he’d left in the attic.

Ryuji, Yusuke, and Futaba would drop by though, each of them on varying times of the afternoon. Sometimes, when Ryuji and Yusuke’s breaks would line up, they’d come to Leblanc together and Futaba would come rushing in when she was sent a message.

They spent time together that way, enjoying each other’s company and antics with the aroma of coffee and spices in the air. When Akira would attend to his barista duties, the others would tease and coo at him; Ryuji would pull faces at him (the ones that made him nearly spill hot water on himself from stifling his laughing fit); Futaba would take pictures of the “_model barista man_”; and Yusuke? Well, Yusuke would be taking serving advice from Sojiro, a veteran in the field of talking and adjusting to different kinds of customers.

Life was good in Leblanc— It was calm and quiet and absolutely _peaceful_; The antithesis to his life in The Metaverse. One could say that they were supplementary to each other in Akira’s world, each setting and situation balancing out his character. Café Leblanc was his light to The Metaverse’s dark, and Akira was completely fine with the entire setup. He was never pulled too deeply into one, because the other would resurface him between the two.

He couldn’t say he preferred one over the other, though. _That_ decision was hard to make, and Akira was near-certain he could never answer it fully. He was only grateful that the lives he lived in the two establishments never collided into one another— So far, at least.

It was around 5 PM when the bell above the door rang again. Until that moment, Akira was alone in Leblanc and sitting on one of the bar seats as he watched TV, apron still on and glasses askew on his face from bumping into the hand he rested his cheek on.

When the small ringing reached his attention, he hopped onto his feet once more and fixed his glasses. He stepped around to the back of the bar again and flashed his signature smile— The one he used for his duties in this café alone, not to be confused with the devilish smirk constantly plastered on his cheeks as Joker.

“Welcome to Café Leblanc,” he greeted, eyes only just then going from the wall clock next to Sayuri, to the two people standing at the entrance.

The first thing he saw were mops of hair— one blonde and long, almost familiar; and the other, a chestnut brown. They were unruly, almost as if styled lazily (though Akira couldn’t poke much fun when he himself only ever ran a hand through the curls atop his scalp.)

What made his eyes widen, though— What made his lips part (just for a _quick_ second) and his heart start thumping in triple time in his chest, was the gaze that stared right back at him. They were warmer than the last two times he saw them.

Striking and red irises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (im still screaming over the p5r trailer that dropped btw holy fuck im going to have a heart attack we have so much new content and potential content that a lotta us asked for)
> 
> edit: how do the chapters look on laptops and computers ? the spacing is different on phones, so i'd like your guys' opinion on how it looks and if i should change it up.
> 
> listen list !! (songs that got me through this chapter)  
tristam x karma fields – build the cities (empire of sound)  
wrld - little too close (ft. veronika redd)  
persona 5 ost – life will change  
lvther – dots  
you got that remix  
envy – 116


	4. Track 03

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they get in contact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all before you guys start reading i just wanna apologise for the quality drop :'^)) i suck at writing interaction between more than two people and im still kinda sick haha sorry

“Never underestimate the power of a good nap.”

“Yeah, a nap that lasts _eight hours_,” Goro retorted, a dubious smile playing on his lips.

Ann, who had been stretching her arms upward as they walked through the neighbourhood, decided to slap Goro’s shoulder lightly as she brought them back down to her sides. The two laughed together, arms now interlocked during their stroll.

“So where are we going? I thought we would be going to _Shibuya_ and not _the next neighbourhood over_ judging by how excited you were earlier.”

Goro could only chuckle as he shook his head, eyes now wandering over to the various stands and shops that they passed. They were the same from the day prior, though were actually open that time, and that gave Yongen-Jaya a vibe of life. Goro quite liked it.

He could vividly remember the smell of Café Leblanc—All coffee and curry spices— and that made the steps in his walk giddy with well-hidden excitement as they neared the establishment.

“To one of the best curries I’ve had in a long time.”

Before they’d begun their little stroll to Yongen-Jaya, Ann and Goro had awoken from their hangover-curing sleep at four and four-thirty in the afternoon respectively. When Ann saw her roommate emerge from his bedroom (hair positively _dishevelled_, but the man himself actually looking more alive than he did that morning,) the first thing she did was consult him about ordering KFC over the phone, seeing as they’d had nothing in their stomachs for the entire day save for two pieces of toast. In that moment, an idea clicked in Goro’s head and he headed back into his room after simply telling Ann to get changed because they were eating out.

Though it was too late to call it lunch, and too early to exactly call it dinner, they were hungry and looking for food; It was only Goro who dragged them out of the house simply telling Ann that, and quote, “_fresh air and a walk would be good after a hangover_” like that was the best excuse he could muster at the moment.  
Ann knew her best friend, and she just _knew_ that he wanted to take her to this place they were walking to—whatever or wherever it was—not just _because_, and so agreed. It would be a good joint, knowing Goro.

“Oh yeah? And where’s that?” Ann inquired just as Goro had noted the secondhand shop from the morning prior was closed.

Led by Goro, they turned to the passageway on their right. As he saw the familiar red and white sign, his face visibly beamed, pointing to the quaint, little café they approached. 

“Coffee and curry, Café Leblanc,” Ann read aloud, bright, azure eyes to the sign above before she pushed past the door. Goro, following in after her, could only nod eagerly.

When the bell above their heads announced their presence, the lone man sitting at the end of the bar stood and rounded the counter, flashing them a bright (almost blindingly bright) smile. Goro had to suck in a breath as he felt his heartrate double in speed— Maybe even triple?

All he knew for sure was that the tall, curly-haired and bespectacled young man that faced them _wasn’t_ Sojiro— Oh _no_, he wasn’t Sojiro _at all_ and Goro had to pinch himself as he looked into those void-like, black eyes.

“Welcome to Café Leblanc,” _Joker_ himself in the _flesh_ greeted them.

The shock must’ve been apparent in his expression. He was sure Ann was just as taken aback, though somehow she managed to nod hurriedly at the man before basically shoving Goro into the nearest booth, herself sitting down on the couch facing his.

He couldn’t help but focus on a single question that made its home in Goro’s mind, though.  
The dancer caught the split-second flash of recognition that shone in Joker’s eyes when he’d looked over to them— He caught the shock that was reflected in those black eyes, framed by thickly-rimmed glasses that matched his hair and irises.

Goro was too starstruck and stunned to form any sort coherent speech when the man had approached their table, casual and nonchalant.

“So, what can I get you?”

Goro focused on his interlaced fingers on the table, physically unable to make himself so much as give Joker a glance.

“We’ll have two curries, please.”

_Ann, you are my lifesaver._

“Got it. Would you like our house blend to go with that? They go together better than you’d think,” the man offered, the smile just _audible_ in his tone. Why did his voice have to be so damn smooth and deep and _pleasant_? Goro wanted to die right then and there.

For a moment, silence hung in the air. His eyes lifted to Ann, who was giving him a look that urged him to at least do or say _something_.

Coughing awkwardly, Goro nodded.

“Sure,” he finally said, still afraid of looking the other man in the eyes.

When Joker’s lingering presence left their table, Ann reached out to hold the sides of Goro’s head, bringing his face to lean close to hers. His palms flattened on the table on instinct.

When Goro looked into her eyes, he saw a million and one questions ready to burst.

“_One of the best curries I’ve had in a long time_,” Ann echoed his words back to him in a low whisper, the smile on her lips cheeky and dangerous.

Catching up to her train of thought, Goro made a small noise of denial from within his throat. He would’ve started shaking his head frantically if only Ann weren’t holding it firmly in her grasp.

“I _swear_ to you,” he began, voice laced with panic, “I _swear_ to you that I had no idea _he_ worked here until today.”

“So you knew earlier and that’s why you wanted me to come with you here?” Ann implied, and the way her teeth showed in her grin began looking scary.

“_No_,” Goro fired back immediately, eyes widening further, “I meant just _now_, when I walked in here with _you_.”

Ann didn’t suppress her laughter. Goro’s cheeks were flushed red, his plea coming out in a high, frantic tone.

“Enough with the teasing, Ann.”

“So are you telling me it’s just a _coincidence_ that the place you just _stumbled upon_ yesterday morning is the same place Joker apparently works at?”

Goro heard the airquotes in each emphasised word Ann said. His eyes travelled over to the kitchen where Joker had his back to them, a phone (presumably his) on the counter beside two plates he was ladling curry onto. Ann followed his gaze.

“_Yes_.”

There was a minute that passed with just Ann suddenly staring _hard_ into his eyes— Like she was scrutinising the red of his irises. It wasn’t very accusatory, though; More like she had to check if Goro himself believed this was mere _coincidence_, when to her it was more..

“Fate,” Ann finally said, releasing Goro’s head as she relaxed back into her seat.

Confused, Goro leaned back into the couch, one brow raised and his lips pursed into a thin line as he stared at Ann.

“What?”

“You heard me. This is fate.”

Ann looked assured of herself, nodding thoughtfully even. In contrast, Goro shook his head.

The concept of _fate_ wasn’t very popular to him.

“I really find it hard to believe that some higher being orchestrated this moment, Ann,” he argued, though Ann would only give him a simple shrug in return, smile fixed on her cheeks.

“Believe what you want, Goro Akechi, but I still say this is fate and not just a chance encounter.”

It was still puzzling, _should_ he say that it really _was_ fate that brought them together.  
Why would _fate_ bring a DJ and some dime-a-dozen dancer together? Why in a small café tucked away from the big, bustling streets of Tokyo? Why him and Joker? Why _then_ and not some other, earlier time in their lives and careers?

It was stupid.

A chance encounter with Joker was all he would probably get, if his hunch was correct. Maybe Joker recognised him as the idiot the week prior that started a dance battle in his club. Maybe Joker thought he was some crazy stalker fan that tracked down where he worked besides the club, which was why he looked so shocked when he and Ann had first stepped into the café. Either way, Joker would surely only give them the most necessary of pleasantries and interaction as part of his job in Café Leblanc.

“Sorry for the wait.”

Speak of the Devil.

When Goro turned his head, he saw Joker approach them once more, now carrying a tray in one hand where he balanced two plates of curry and rice and two cups of coffee. As he set down their food and drinks before them, Ann and Goro thanked the man before he turned and retreated back into the kitchen to retrieve his phone, tray abandoned on the spot where it previously sat. 

Goro couldn’t help but watch the other man go along the motions of simply _existing_ in the same space as him (so closely, as well) and would have probably let his meal go cold if it weren’t for the shutter sound of a camera sounding off before him.

When he looked to Ann, he saw her phone camera pointed at him, the woman smiling sweetly at him as she looked back at the screen.

“Don’t think I’m not getting pictures of our food before we leave.”

Goro could only chuckle, though didn’t deny Ann the pleasure of snapping some photos of them together with their meal, as well as taking pictures of her.

When Goro was digging into his first few bites of the _amazing_ curry, Ann was already uploading their photos on her social media— Evident when he heard the notification tone of his phone go off whenever Ann posted or tagged him in something.

And then Ann had her first bite into the curry.

“Whoa, this really _is_ good curry!”

Goro laughed, nodding in agreement.

As they ate, Ann gushed over the taste and quality of their food, Goro only listening intently. Sometime later, they switched the topic to music they planned on using for future choreographies, and then to their past dances.

Goro noted that Joker had been leaning against the counter of the bar the entire time, his back to them as he scrolled down his phone. The man still hadn’t moved from his position even when Ann started taking their conversation to the choreographies they were teaching as of current.

“You know,” Ann began, her food near-finished whereas Goro was already done, “I really like that kick you do at the start of the dance. It really _kicks_ off the song.”

Goro groaned as he took a sip of his coffee, but really, it was only to hide the quiet little hum he noticed he’d make whenever the drink collided with his tastebuds. It was _so_ good.

“One day I’m going to get back at you for making me listen to all these horrible puns,” Goro declared, though it was all in jest. _Mostly_.

“Oh, you only _wish_.”

It was after then that they settled into an easy and comfortable silence after laughing together briefly, only the sound of the TV serving as background noise. Lips on the rim of his cup, Goro let his eyes wander over the café once more, taking in all the details as he drank his coffee.

After looking over the bar, though, it didn’t take very long until Goro was (very obviously) staring at Joker, who he could see was smiling at his screen. He heard Ann’s quiet teases (ignored it,) felt her foot kick his under the table (ignored it,) and just _knew_ she was smiling obnoxiously wide at him again (ignored that, too.)

He expected this from Ann, and didn’t let her break the confidence he’d built up for remaining calm and comfortable when Joker (the same Joker he’d been near-crying over the night previous due to their metaphorical distance) was literally only five feet away, at _max_. Somehow, over the course of their meal, Joker’s presence didn’t make him as flustered as he expected.

What he didn’t expect, though, was that as he stared at the man, Joker would place his phone atop the bar, cross his arms over his chest then turn his head to look over his shoulder— Directly at Goro.

Their gazes held each other, and Goro got the message.

‘_I know you’re watching me and I love it_.’

Was Joker actually smirking now?

_Oh shit_.

There goes not being flustered by Joker’s presence.

Ann had apparently been holding in a laughing fit, because when Joker rounded the bar to approach their table once more, the woman was laughing with no qualms or care about where she was or who she was with.

“Excuse me.”

_Oh **no**_.

“I’ve actually been thinking this for a while now, but you two look familiar.”

And that was how Joker ended up sitting with them after pulling a chair from the bar— Except he wasn’t really sitting normally, no. He’d placed the chair so that the back of it faced the side of their table before he swung over and straddled his legs on either side of the chair, arms folded atop the back. 

The smile on Joker’s lips couldn’t have been anything but a friendly, inviting grin, but somehow Goro couldn’t ignore the hint of confidence and slight cockiness they displayed.

“I’m Ann Takamaki, professional dancer at the Starlight Studio,” came Ann’s reply after she’d wiped a tear off the side of her eye. She beamed at Joker before bowing her head only slightly.

Joker’s eyes landed on Goro, and he had to inhale and exhale deeply (subtly) before he followed up.

“Goro Akechi, a dancer at the same studio as Ann,” he said, relieved that his voice came out evenly. He bowed slightly, as well.

“We think _you_ look familiar, too,” he heard Ann say, tone matter-of-factly.

When Goro found Joker’s eyes again, he didn’t stop himself from asking, “I suppose we met at The Metaverse?”

Joker nodded, corners of his lips pulling up _ever_ so slightly (it looked almost mischievous) before Goro continued.

“So I suppose you’re Joker?”

But it came as a surprise when Joker(?) had shaken his head from side to side. Goro was about to speak up again and apologise, when the man beat him to the punch.

“I’m only Joker in The Metaverse and wherever else I play at. Out here, I’m just Akira Kurusu.”

Joker (Akira now) bowed his head. When he looked up again, there was a shine to his eyes that made Goro’s heart pound in his chest.

“Nice to meet you two.”

_Akira Kurusu_, the voice in Goro’s subconscious echoed back.

_His name suits him._

“_So_,” Akira spoke up, “Takamaki, Akechi. You two are dancers?”

“Just _Ann_, please,” Ann said, “Everyone calls me Ann, Kurusu.”

Goro watched the expression on Akira’s face shift from slight surprise, to thoughtful, then finally contort back to his previous, smiling demeanour. He nodded at Ann.

“Only if you two call me Akira.”

Just as Akira looked back at Goro again, the ring of the entrance’s bell caught all of their attention.  
Goro twisted in his seat a bit to look at who’d entered the café.

Sojiro looked the tiniest bit confused as he stood by the door, a bag of groceries in each hand. He gave each of them a once-over with his eyes, only nodding at him when Goro briefly raised his hand in a small wave at the older man.

“Akira,” Sojiro began, “When I said you should learn how to make small talk with the customers, I hope you know I didn’t mean that you should sit at their table, too.”

And then Akira laughed, and it was the warmest sound Goro had ever heard in his life.

Looking back to the man, Goro realised that Akira had already stood and started making his way to Sojiro then. He watched as Akira took the bags from Sojiro’s hands as if it were their routine, before heading into the kitchen to (presumably) pack away the groceries.

“They’re my friends, Boss,” he heard Akira’s reply from beside the fridge.

Sojiro stood over Ann and him then, nodding again at Goro.

“Didn’t expect you to be here tonight, Akechi,” Sojiro told him though there was a smile on his lips. He looked to Ann, who beamed at the older man.

“Are you Akechi’s girlfriend? It’s very nice to meet you, miss..?”

There it was, the one question he and Ann had been asked the most over the course of their friendship together. Though Goro should have been used to it at that point, he still couldn’t help his eyes from widening and his frantic head-shaking.

Was he imagining it, or did he feel a stare aimed at him?

“No, no, no, no..!” Goro yelped, voice getting higher with each ‘no’ his lips spilled. In contrast to him, Ann was collected as she shook her head, offering a sheepish smile to Sojiro.

“Goro and I are only close friends, sir. I’m already in a relationship,” Ann replied simply, “I’m Ann Takamaki.”

Ann bowed slightly to Sojiro after her introduction, smile still on her cheeks.

“The name’s Sojiro Sakura, little lady. I’m the owner of Café Leblanc,” Sojiro returned in kind, head nodding to Ann.

As Ann and Sojiro engaged in small talk, Goro took the chance to take a look at where Akira was.  
Akira had his head buried in the fridge, arranging this and that and arranging the groceries Sojiro had brought to the café. He looked busy and focused on the task at hand, phone abandoned on the counter though Goro could still see it vibrate judging by how the device moved around slightly with each buzz.

Huh.  
Maybe it _was_ his imagination playing tricks on him after all— Akira couldn’t have turned his head and peered at him when he was asked if Ann was his girlfriend or not.

Goro looked down at his cup (which he’d emptied some time ago) then to Sayuri in the corner of the room. He felt a bit awkward only staying quiet with nothing much to really do, no one to really talk to. He didn’t want to butt in the conversation Ann and Sojiro were having, either.

It took him about ten minutes of fidgeting and internal debating before Goro slipped out of his seat and stepped towards the painting. He began examining Sayuri, one hand habitually grabbing onto his chin as his eyes squinted at the little details the painting displayed.

“It’s called Sayuri.”

There was his voice again, but now Akira was leaning against the corner of the bar with the small of his back. Goro felt those black eyes on him.

“I know,” Goro countered, weight shifting to his right foot. He was staring at the baby the woman in red held.

“There’s a little-known fact about it,” Akira began. Goro, from the corner of his eye, could see that he lifted his index finger up to point towards the ceiling.

When there followed naught but silence, Goro turned his head to look straight into Akira’s eyes, and after he did, he could see a smirk play at the other man’s lips. Did he really pause just so that Goro would look at him?

_Sly_.

“Well..?” Goro poked.

“Well, _what_?” came Akira’s reply, the grin on his cheeks only widening. Goro’s brows furrowed as he stared down at the man, only then noticing that he was taller (by just a bit) than Akira.

_Are you seriously going to make me ask for it?_

It took a few seconds of a silent staring contest between them before Goro gave in, his eyes now in a squint as he held eye contact.

“..What’s the little-known fact about Sayuri?”

Akira laughed, the sound bubbling from deep within his throat, and Goro’s tiny annoyance was squished. How was it that Akira’s laugh could bring goosebumps to race across his skin?

“_Man_, you’re easy to mess with, aren’t you, Akechi?”

Goro felt the blood rush to his cheeks then, his only defence mechanism only being to cross his arms over his chest, pursing his lips into a line as he did so. He glared at Akira, if only to hide the fact that the way his name slid off the other man’s tongue made his heart thump against his ribcage harder than Goro would have liked it to.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” Akira said, though there were hints of lightheartedness in his tone, “Will you forgive me if I tell you what only a few people know about Sayuri?”

Goro couldn’t fight against the smile he was trying his _damnest_ to suppress. The way Akira looked at him then felt impossible to deny.

“Fine.”

Akira pushed off the counter to stand next to him, their shoulders pressing against each other in only the _slightest_. Goro looked back to Sayuri.

“The baby..” Akira started, nodding towards the painted baby on the portrait, “His name is Yusuke.”

Goro tilted his head to the side, index finger and thumb finding their way around his chin again. He stared at the baby once more, eyes focusing on it.

“Sayuri and Yusuke, hm?”

“Sayuri and Yusuke.”

And so, they only stood there, silence lingering between them.  
Goro wouldn’t let himself look at Akira, would always stop his gaze from going too far to the left. He feared that, should he let his eyes wander too far, he’d be met with those obsidian eyes staring back at him. Goro wouldn’t know what to do next if their gazes locked.

“Y’know.. Actually..” he heard Akira speak up again, though his voice had been quiet— Almost as if he were reaching out to Goro without actually wanting him to be able to catch what Akira said.

Before Akira could tell him anything further, though, Sojiro had called out to the man.

“Which reminds me: Akira, is Futaba going to sleep over at your place again tomorrow night?”

Suddenly, Goro found the courage to look at Akira, who’d turned to look at Sojiro.

Was Futaba his..?

“Oh, yeah she is. She said she needed to do her usual checkup of the club’s security system again, anyway.”

“Does she have to do that _so_ late at night?” Sojiro inquired, concern in his tone.

“I think? Well, from what she told me..”

Goro tuned out their conversation at that point. He was too deep into his thoughts to really pay any attention to what Sojiro and Akira were saying.

_Anyway?_

Did an ‘_anyway’_ mean anything? Did it branch out into the possibility of this Futaba girl not necessarily needing to sleep at Akira’s home but doing so because of one already-established reason _plus_ checking the security system? Was it possible that Futaba was Akira’s girlfriend?  
These were the questions that trickled into Goro’s mind, and you can damn bet that he was overthinking about them.

Goro felt the need to silently retreat to his seat again. When he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, he fished it out and took one look at the message displayed on the lockscreen.

* * *

**A n n (sent 18:16)**  
**Futaba is apparently Sojiro’s daughter. She’s around the same age as me from what he said.**

* * *

When he put two and two together, the evidence began compiling in Goro’s mind.

_I mean, Akira is **clearly** close to Sojiro. It wouldn’t surprise anyone if Sojiro introduced his daughter to him and they hit it off eventually._

Another message popped up above the one Ann sent.

* * *

**A n n (sent 18:17)**  
**You wanna get out of here?**

* * *

Goro looked up from his phone under the table, to Ann’s eyes trained on him across from where he sat. He nodded once, and it was all Ann needed before she stood, leaving money (enough to pay for both their meals and _then_ some) on the table.

As Goro stood up as well whilst pocketing his phone, Ann was already thanking Sojiro for the talk and Akira for the service. When he stepped out of the booth, Ann had interlocked their arms together again, pulling his side close to hers.

With a final, “_thank you again for everything!_” she’d half-dragged Goro out of the café.

The first thing he noticed after stepping out of Café Leblanc was the darkened sky above them and the cold, night breeze that hit the back of his neck. How much time had passed since they entered the establishment?

His time to wonder was cut short when Ann was already walking away from the café and out of the corridor they’d entered from earlier with him in tow.

“Wait, _wait_!”

They’d only _just_ rounded the corner when Goro heard Akira’s voice calling out to them. Looking over his shoulder, he stopped in his tracks, causing Ann to stop with him.

Akira stood in the middle of the street, phone in hand _again_. He was only looking at them, but Goro could read the confusion and underlying anxiety hidden in his eyes.

Goro decided to untangle his and Ann’s arms, his voice low and quiet when he leaned into his friend.

“Give us five minutes?”

Ann was hesitant— Would probably have told him that he shouldn’t be so quick to offer all his trust to someone again so quickly, if only Goro hadn’t already crossed the few steps that took him to speaking distance with Akira.

“Sorry,” was the first thing Goro said, his voice quiet, “Ann likes to move at her own pace.”

Goro saw Akira’s eyes flicker over to behind him, undoubtedly glancing at Ann. He hoped Ann wasn’t glaring at Akira.

“Yeah, no kidding. You guys were out of there in like, five minutes flat,” Akira tried to joke, even offering a brief laugh.

“Did anything happen? Why do you have to leave so suddenly?”

Akira’s tone was concerned, a stark contrast to his earlier voice. His expression clearly spelled worry, anxiety.

“She just realised that it’s almost feeding time for our cat.” The lie left his tongue smoothly, a sheepish smile on his cheeks, “You know how cats are.”

Akira seemed to believe the lie, his chest visibly heaving once. Was he holding in a breath?

“_Oh._ Right, _yeah_! Cats!” Akira laughed, the sound forced this time. It didn’t sit well with Goro, especially when the smile fell from Akira’s lips once more, gone as quickly as it came.

“Look, I just—“ Akira began, and it was almost _painful_ watching how awkward the same man who was _Joker_ (ever charismatic, ever smooth on and off stage) stumble over his words, “I just really liked talking to you? And I didn’t want you to leave without knowing for sure we would talk again or not.”

“You’ve had _one_ conversation with me,” Goro found himself shooting back, voice straight. He was rewarded with a brief laugh (a genuine one this time) from Akira, a smile of his own turning up from the corners of his lips. He tried to fight it, he really did.

“Yeah, well I really liked that _one_ _conversation_ we had.”

“Did you really run out of the café _just_ to tell me that?” Goro asked, teeth showing through his grin. He had his gaze to the ground then, afraid he’d maybe laugh at the pretend glare Akira was shooting at him.

“And here I was, about to ask for your number in classic movie ‘running out into the rain’ fashion,” Akira retorted, his tone set in mock disbelief.

Looking up at him again, Akira had a hand over where his heart sat, his lips set in a faux-gasp ‘O.’ Goro didn’t stifle the laugh that escaped his lips.

“It isn’t even _raining_.”

“It’d be _raining_ if only you stuck to the script, _goddammit _Akechi.”

Goro laughed again, harder this time. When he looked at Akira again, he could see a grin that mirrored his own set on the man’s lips, his features lit up. Goro liked seeing this grin on Akira.

“So can I have your number?” Akira asked, and Goro looked down on the phone screen staring up at him.

“You’re not going to let me go home to feed our angry and cranky cat if I don’t give you my number, will you?”

Goro already knew the answer, and the head shake Akira responded with only confirmed his suspicions.

He accepted the phone and quickly typed his number into the empty number slot, as well as typing his name down on the bar above it. When he’d handed the phone back to Akira, the man was positively _beaming_ at him, and Goro thought the stars and the sun couldn’t possibly compete.

“Thanks. See you around, I guess? That is, if your cat hasn’t torn you two to shreds.”

Goro nodded, a final chuckle leaving him before he’d started walking backwards back to Ann’s side, eyes never leaving Akira’s form. 

Ann’s arm around his shoulders made him turn to face the direction he was walking in, and throughout their walk back to the apartment, Goro couldn’t have been more glad for dragging them out to Café Leblanc.

“Are you sure we can trust him?” Ann asked him when the door of their apartment closed behind them. In her eyes, she saw all the concern and worry in the world. He was truly glad to have Ann by his side, to have a friend that would look out for him the way Ann did.

But Goro was but a boy afloat on Cloud Nine, and so could only nod at his roommate as he slipped out of his shoes at the entrance.

“I have a feeling this won’t end like last time,” he said, smiling to himself, “Akira could be different.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONE WHOLE AKECHI POINT OF VIEW CHAPTER Y'ALL I DID IT
> 
> also this is an unbeta'd chapter this time around :^00  
both lynne and harvey weren't feeling too cash money today so i kinda ?? beta'd this myself ig  
also this is actually version two of chapter three haha  
i wrote the first version while i was still too sick (bc i really can't relax knowing i haven't written anything oof) and i ended up hating how awkward the flow was and how bad the dialogue and shit was so i wrote this e n t i r e thing in the span of the entire day just now while binging literally o n e song for about twelve hours
> 
> also !! holy shit we're almost at 500 hits and 50 kudos ?? y'all are amazing, thank you so much for reading and giving kudos :'^0
> 
> listen list (songs that got me through this chapter)  
nct u - 7th sense  
wrld - chase it (fr. savoi)  
kellbender - mission statement  
combustibles - in da mood  
prelow - mistakes like this (12-HOUR LOOP THAT HONESTLY PUT J U S T THE RIGHT MOOD FOR WRITING THIS CHAPTER)


	5. Track 04

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a typical wednesday night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey ! sorry for the late update you guys. i hit a block there where i just h a t e d everything i wrote so oof :'^  
i did it tho !! chapter f o u r :'^))

Beach-blonde and straightened. Akira should be used to seeing his hair like this every Wednesday night already, but the light, not-curly locks sitting atop his scalp looked as foreign on him as ever.

He must’ve gagged for the nth time already by the time he set down the can of coloured hairspray beside his straightening iron on the porcelain bathroom counter. The harsh, wholly-artificial smell of chemicals on his head wasn’t the best part about this entire ordeal, nor his favourite.

Probably the worst thing about it all was that he couldn’t risk covering his nose with the stocking that hugged his throat while spritsing his hair with the product _because_, though it had been blacker than his hair pre-styling session, the fabric could very well be dyed, too. Splotches of a sandy blonde around the stocking would ruin the aesthetic of his mostly monochrome outfit, aside from defeating the purpose of disguising his hair like this.

Akira eyed the white dress shirt and the black suit jacket that hung on a hook beside the wall-to-wall mirror he stood in front of. It felt almost like a second skin to the third ‘him’ when he slid into the materials, tugging this way and that to adjust the articles on himself.  
It was him who picked the red, square-ended tie all the way back when he’d first put together the outfit, which now sat beside black, leather gloves that only reached _just_ before his wrists when he wore them. Akira thought that he needed a trademark once upon a time ago, and thought the best way to remain stylish while standing out as not part of the common office worker masses was the splash of bright crimson around his neck.

After popping up the collars of his dress shirt over the jacket, Akira slid the necktie around it and tied the material crookedly, _much_ looser than formalities would suggest. He left the collar up as he tugged on the gloves on each hand, watching the material stretch and clump together in places as he balled his hands into fists and relaxed them again.

He took one last look at his reflection in the mirror, a flashy smile lighting up his features before Akira pulled up the excess fabric of the stocking on his neck to cover up until the bridge of his nose.

To none the wiser, he didn’t look like _Akira Kurusu_, the simple, unassuming 22-year-old man that served coffee and curry in the afternoons in a tucked-away café; Nor did he resemble _Joker_, the aloof, charismatic DJ who rocked the night away with beats upon beats pounding the walls of The Metaverse.

Akira, with his straight, beach-blonde hair whilst wearing a crudely-worn suit, looked like _Arsene_, the criminal who broke into buildings and stole information on a weekly basis.

Now all he needed was his mask..

Akira must have left it on the coffee table in the living room.

As he padded out of the bathroom and into the main area of his home, the sound of furious key-mashing rang louder in his ears— Or at least, that’s what it would sound like to someone who didn’t know Futaba.

The woman was sitting cross-legged in the middle of his couch, a sleek, black laptop placed on her lap as she hunched over the device, fingers dancing across the keys at lightning speed. When Akira sat down on the vacant chair to the left of the coffee table, he could make out none but window upon window opened through the reflection in her glasses, and so opted to glance across the table to meet the stare of their all black-clad friend seated on the matching chair opposite to his.

Morgana was a man who’d suddenly broken into his attic years ago, before Akira had moved out of Leblanc. It was naught but a few months after he graduated from Shujin Academy did he awake to the _thump_ and _creek_ of footsteps roaming the cricketing, wooden floor of his then-bedroom, and could only look wildly to the man who’d pinned him down by the throat when an 18-year-old Akira tried to tackle him from behind.

The first thing he noted about Morgana (even after the years they’d come to work together) were his eyes— Rich, royal blue irises that looked too _inhuman_ to be real. At times, he pondered about asking Morgana if he were wearing contacts, but the man would only stare back at him silently and reply with, “I wonder..”

He was a cryptic fellow with a background that even _Futaba_ couldn’t uncover, but Akira would never come to question him or his objectives much, if only in thanks for training him to become as great of a thief as he blossomed into.

Still, it felt weird to Akira when he realised the talent he harboured for slipping in and out of places without leaving so much of a trace of his presence behind, but it didn’t take him too long to embrace the gift he’d been blessed with.  
As a child, he would’ve come to cry about being ignored and fading into the background of daily life, but as he grew into adulthood, he found that he wouldn’t have traded it for anything in the world. Morgana made him realise the potentials he would come to unleash.

Akira shifted his eyes from the man’s bright, blue ones, to the lone, full-faced mask that sat in the middle of his coffee table.  
It was nothing special—Just a solid white colour with chaotic, black scribbles that formed eyes and a wickedly-wide smile. Inside were adhesives that stuck to his chin, cheekbones and forehead, eliminating the need for a ribbon to wrap around his skull.

It was given to him by Morgana the night they met, right after Akira was released. To that day, a depression in the wooden flooring of Leblanc’s attic served as a memento of their initial meeting.

Akira picked his mask off the table and held it in his gloved hands, just as Futaba had stopped typing away and faced the screen of her laptop to them. Akira saw it displayed blueprints to a high-rise building with two levels highlighted.

“Let’s go over the plan one more time,” she announced, back straightening as she scooted forwards.

“New Era Entertainment’s main building has twenty-five floors. What _we’re_ interested in are the thirteenth floor”—Her eyes fell on Akira—“.. and the twenty-fifth floor.” Her gaze shifted to Morgana, but only momentarily before she looked back to the temporarily-blonde man. 

“Akira, you’re going to go up to the server room located in the thirteenth floor to plug my hard drive into the main terminal. I’m going to tell you when my malware’s penetrated their systems before you can leave.”

Brown eyes met blue irises again.

“Morgana, I need you to get into the CEO’s office and bug _the Hell_ outta the place. You have to leave _zero_ blindspots if we want to get hard evidence of the company exploiting their idols. Wherever Watanabe is, we should have crisp, clear audio of his voice, and whoever else’s.”

“Roger.” Morgana nodded curtly.

Akira checked the pockets of his jacket, confirming the presence of a hard drive and his earpiece. He fished the earpiece out and stuck it into his right lobe, afterwards pushing a lone button stationed on the side. He watched as his other companions mimicked the actions.

“_Arsene, Zorro. Confirm audio input and output_,” he heard Futaba’s voice through the device.

“Zorro, can confirm everything’s working in order,” Morgana from across him replied.

“Arsene, ready to kick corporate ass,” Akira responded, a wide grin turning up on his cheeks.

* * *

Akira had donned a beanie to stuff his hair into and a trenchcoat to cover his outfit before he’d left his apartment. As he walked to Shibuya, his head was kept facing the ground with his hands in his pockets. From a pocket on the inner side of his trenchcoat, he felt the shape of his mask.

It was only until he saw the big, bright sign stationed at the very top of New Era Entertainment’s building did he duck into the alleyways between buildings near it. Akira twisted and turned corners until he felt as if he were in deep enough territory to slow to a stop beside a line of trash cans outside of an establishment.  
From his pockets, he fished out a black plastic bag as well as his mask. He did quick work shrugging off the trenchcoat before stuffing it into the bag with his beanie, donning the white mask soon after he’d tied the plastic closed and left it beside the dumpsters. Akira would come retrieve it after his job was done.

The man stuck to the shadows of the alleyways on the rest of the way to their site of infiltration. Once he arrived at the back of the entertainment company’s building, he tuned into his earpiece.

“I’m here. There’s an electric lock at the back entrance. Think you can—“

Akira didn’t get to finish his sentence before he watched as the red lights of the electric lock turn green, granting him access. He managed a quiet laugh.

“_That_ was quick.”

“_It’s one of my many talents,_” Futaba replied, her tone light and confident.

Into the back door and into a maze of hallways. When the back entrance clicked shut behind him, Akira took a good look around the area he stood in, glad to have been bathed in darkness already. Judging by the brooms and mops that lined the small room he stood in, he guessed he was in a supply room, of sorts.

“_I’ve accessed the surveillance system already. **Sheesh**, these guys need a better security management team._”

Akira had approached the door when Futaba made the remark. Exiting the room slowly, he made to mutter a reply.

“Even if they did, are you sure you wouldn’t have gotten into their systems either way?” The smile was evident in his tone as he asked.

“**_No_**_. Now get a move on!_”

Akira ran.

Futaba’s directions fired off into his ear with each turn he took, informing him when and where personnel got too close to his position or which route he should take as he made to look for the stairwell of the building.

As Akira ran up the flights of stairs, he couldn’t help the smile that crept up his cheeks.  
He felt _everything_ going on inside his body, from the adrenaline coursing through his veins and the pounding of his heart within his chest, to the warmth of his muscles as he scaled the floors up.

_This_ was Akira in the moments he felt most alive— Even more so than when he made an audience jump to his music.  
Slipping into a high-security building, just _knowing_ that he could break in and come out with none the wiser of what secret’s he’d left behind or taken for himself. It completed him, in a way.

Akira Kurusu was a barista by day, a DJ by night, and a professional thief on Wednesdays. He _thrived_ off of both _music_ and the _thrill_ of getting past fortresses with measures meant to keep people like _him_ out.

His breaths got heavier with each level he ascended, though the grin adorning his face behind the mask never wavered.

“_Wait, wait! Security’s near the ninth floor stairwell._”

Akira had only _just_ stepped onto the landing of the eighth floor when Futaba chimed in with her warning. Immediately, he looked to the open entrance to the main area of the level, wasting no time to press his back against the wall next to it.

“Okay. What’s the plan?” Akira asked quietly, voice but a mumble as he peered over the door to look into the corridors of the eighth floor.  
He saw naught but walls lined with identical doors, with labels next to each entrance. Some of them were blank, he noted, right before setting his eyes on the elevator at the very end of the hallway.

Akira withdrew his head once more, the ache of the muscles in his legs now becoming apparent.

“_See that elevator at the end of the hall?_”

Akira nodded, though whether Futaba saw him or not didn’t matter as the woman continued on, anyway.

“_Get to it. It’ll take you up the rest of the way._”

He didn’t need confirmation if anyone would stop him before he reached the thirteenth floor. When the elevator _ding_-ed and the doors slid open, he made a mad dash through the hallway and into the lift, mindful to keep his steps as quiet as he could get.

Once inside, he pressed the button labelled ‘_13_’ and the button to close the doors.

Akira thought he was safe as the doors began closing shut, though a small bit of panic hit him when he watched as the door closest to the lift he stood in suddenly swung open, as if driven by pure _rage_.

When the first voices rang out into the hallway, he made to press against the wall where the panel of buttons sat, slamming his body so hard against it that he nearly pressed _all_ of the buttons by accident.

Through the mirror hung at the back wall of the lift, he watched as a woman with wavy, dark auburn hair stomped out of the room, her face spelling none less than _anger_ behind a thinly-veiled guise of _impatience_. Three men soon followed after her, all in suits similar to Akira’s.

As the doors slid to a full shut, Akira heard but _one_ thing.

“I told you, _no_! I am _not_ doing that concept! It isn’t something I’d do as Risette, and certainly _not_ something I’d do as Rise Kujikawa!”

The lift began moving up, almost _too_ slowly for Akira’s tastes. He relaxed back into his previous spot in the midst of the elevator.

“_Rumour’s out that her company is transferring Risette to New Era,_” Futaba said, “_It sounds like they aren’t treating her **as** well as her old company did._”

He’d heard of Risette a few times over the years— Who didn’t? She was the biggest female solo idol in Japan’s idol industry.  
In the number of times Akira had heard of her, he knew the woman as someone who set out a good example of herself, who did things that would influence her fanbase _positively_. Judging by the sound of what he’d heard, he guessed New Era was forcing her to do something a little more.. _out of bounds_.

His time to ponder on the matter was cut short as the lift slowed to a halt, the classic _ding_ ringing out as the doors opened. Akira’s eyes found the panel that displayed ‘_13_’ in orange LED.

As per Futaba’s instruction, he ran down the corridor on his left.

_“There are two guards in this level, seeing as it doesn’t really have much besides conference rooms and the servers. One’s all the way out on the other side of your target and the other is patrolling the vicinity._ _Do you have a plan_?”

Akira slipped into a dark, unlocked room, pressing his back against the door as he stopped to think for a bit. Immediately after he opened his mouth to form a reply, he clamped his lips together at the faint sound of footsteps nearing his position.

_Clink. Clink. Clink_.

The footsteps got louder, to the point that Akira was _sure_ the security guard passed by the room he sat quietly in. His mind focused on the metallic jingling that came with the sound of footfalls.

When the steps grew fainter, Akira cracked the door open, enough for him to peer out and spot the source of the jingling. He squinted at the retreating form of the guard.

The corners of his lips pulled up into a grin at the sight of a ring of keys, hanging _right_ next to a pair of handcuffs.

Akira would have to be mindful of the gun holstered on the guard’s belt, though.

Closing the door once more, Akira pressed his palms flat against the wall beside it, feeling around until he felt the panel of a lightswitch.

Light flooded the room and Akira had to squint a bit at the onslaught of brightness attacking his eyeballs. It took a few seconds before he could start investigating the area.

A coffee machine sat on a line of countertops pressed against the wall, with a tray of mugs and spoons positioned next to it. The room had three sets of tables with metal chairs, with but a lonesome vending machine for softdrinks stationed at the corner of the room. On one table sat a cleaning rag.

Akira found himself in a break room.

He approached the mugs, picking up a metal spoon on a whim. The inversed reflection of his mask stared back at him as he looked over it.

“_Give me an update here,_” Futaba chimed in, voice tinged with a bit of worry. Akira realised he hadn’t given a reply since entering the room.

“I just got an idea.”

The sound of footsteps (with those metallic _clinks_) once more re-surfaced, and Akira reached out to flick off the lights once more. He pressed his ear against the wood of the door, spoon in hand as he evened out his breathing.

When the sound grew louder, then fainter again, Akira counted to five before he opened the door enough for him to _fling the spoon_ at the back of the security guard. He stuck to the wall behind where the door would open after making sure to close it just loud _enough_ to draw attention.

It didn’t take too long before he saw the first dregs of light seep into the break room— And then the blue uniform of the guard came into view.

There was no time for hesitation when Akira reached out for the lightswitch.

Flooded in a blanket of darkness, Akira moved quickly to tackle the security guard, wrestling him to the ground.

When he heard the thud of the man’s back collide with the floor, Akira’s hands took hold of the handgun and slid it to the side, making sure to get it out of reach. He himself had to dart backwards when he saw the fist flying towards him.

Akira had only _barely_ missed the punch to his mask when he’d managed to catch the guard’s wrist. Using this to his advantage, he twisted the man onto his stomach, fingers quick to unhinge the handcuffs from his belt.

With a _click_, one hoop closed around the wrist he held fast to.

Akira’s knee dug into the guard’s spine when he caught the freely-flailing arm from beneath him. Forcing his wrists together, Akira managed to cuff the other one before he got off the man.

His gaze stayed on the guard as he stepped backwards slowly, reaching for the lights.

It was only after the fluorescents bathed the room with light did Akira come to reach for the keyring from the guard’s belt. He lifted the ring with his index finger slowly, acutely aware of the glares the man was shooting at him.

Akira pocketed the keys before he plucked the rag he’d spotted earlier off the table, and it was only then did he come to face the security guard.

Despite the death threats he was sending with only the look in his eyes, it was unmistakeable— Akira could read faces better than anyone he knew.

Behind the tough exterior, the brave, unrelenting front the security guard put up, his eyes spelled _fear_.

It was only to be expected, Akira guessed. After all, when a masked man suddenly ambushes you in the dark and cuffs you down with little to no struggle, who wouldn’t be scared?

Akira got down on one knee before the man’s head. He had his index finger up in front of the drawn-on smile of his mask.

“Who are you?”

That was the question the guard would most likely have asked, if not for Akira stuffing the rag into his mouth. He lifted the man by the back of his collar, and afterwards delivered a solid punch to his forehead.

Akira picked himself up off the floor and flicked off the lights before coming out of the room, leaving the unconscious security guard within.

“_Holy **shi**—! Where the Hell have you **been**?_! _In case you haven’t noticed, there aren’t as many cameras on this level so I had **no** idea where your ass disappeared to!_”

Akira had only turned the corner from the hallway he strolled along when he heard Futaba’s voice exclaim in his ear. As he continued his steps down the hall in exploration for the target, he soon noticed the red blinking of a security camera at the end of the corridor. Him suddenly emerging must’ve startled the woman.

“Took care of the guard,” Akira replied simply, stopping in front of the camera, “So can you tell me where the server room is now? I got the keys, too, so I won’t have to lockpick the door.”

As it turned out, Akira wasn’t very far from the servers at _all_, indicated by the few turns he had to take in order for him to arrive to a door labelled “_Server Room_.”

Once inside, he took a second to look over the terminals lined in five by eight. The black of the equipment was a stark contrast to the white floor, walls _and_ ceiling of the room, the blinking red and yellow LEDs on the devices reminding him of his mixing equipment at home.

There was a larger-than-average terminal sitting in the corner of the room, and Futaba didn’t need to point out that _that_ was his target for the night.

Akira walked along the walls as he approached the terminal. His eyes only looked over the equipment until he found a USB port, after which he dug the hard drive Futaba had given him out of his jacket pocket.

After Akira plugged the device into the port, he took this moment to lean against the wall with crossed arms, a breath escaping his lips. Though this was one of their easier jobs, he still couldn’t fight the lack of sleep he experienced that morning. Maybe _that_ was why he felt his muscles ache more than usual.

“We should have a drink after me and Z get back,” Akira suggested, giving the room another once-over with his eyes. He, however, wouldn’t receive a reply until a few minutes passed.

He was glad Futaba sounded as happy as she did, though.

“_We’re **in**, boys! Mission success!_” Akira couldn’t help but laugh. Futaba could definitely radiate joy when she wanted to. “_I’m getting out the whisky. Arsene, get outta dodge, Zorro’s already back._ _We **did** it!_”

“Got it. The show’s over.”

* * *

Akira had made a break for it after he’d retrieved Futaba’s hard drive and stuffed it back into his pocket. With a few seconds of searching, he’d located the stairwell again, and after a confirmation from his guide that it was clear, he ran down all _thirteen flights_ of stairs until he reached the ground floor and navigated his way back to the supply room back exit again.

The cool night air chilled the back of Akira’s sweat-covered neck after he exited the building, the ache of his abused leg muscles choosing _that exact moment_ to set his nerves on _fire_. Though, with his heart giddy from the high of completing the mission, he ducked back into the alleyways to re-locate his belongings without giving much attention to the soreness already overtaking him.  
Akira was quick to rip open the plastic bag when he found it again, stuffing his hair back into the beanie and pulling on the trenchcoat before he slid his mask (along with the stocking) back into its place in his pocket once more.

Like earlier, the alleyways were dark when he moved along their shadows, opting to emerge back into the hustle and bustle of the night in Shibuya when he felt as if he were far enough from New Era Entertainment’s building to do so.

Around him, screens and signs flashed brightly, advertising anime, the latest gadgets, and idol groups. Hundreds of people must have littered the streets of Shibuya that Akira walked along, his head down and his hands in his pockets— The usual whenever he wore that trenchcoat out in public. 

Soon, he saw more and more neon signs pass him by, more bars and clubs and generally more _shady shit_ once he got to Shinjuku’s red light district.

He passed by Chihaya (the local fortune-teller) though would only glance at her briefly as she read the cards of some guy; He passed by a bar named Crossroads, where he was _sure_ Ohya (a journalist who’d skyrocketed to fame after publishing article upon article of the evidence he and his group sent her about their claims) was getting shit-faced drunk; He passed by _all_ the clubs that showed off pretty girls (_and_ boys) that danced on stages with music only blaring senselessly in the background.

Akira thought of his own club then, and then thought of one man with chestnut-brown hair that danced so _captivatingly_ that he felt like his heart stopped at the sight of him.  
Akira thought of the smile that man gave him, of the way his red eyes could look both warm _and_ cold at the same time when he was annoyed, of the _joy_ he radiated in the videos of him dancing his choreography.

And then Akira was acutely aware of how many of Goro Akechi’s dance videos clogged his watch history.

By the time Akira arrived at the building of his club and apartment, he’d already been mentally punching himself for not texting sooner when he was given Akechi’s number over a full _day_ ago. He should text Akechi soon.

Like ASAP.

“Welcome back!” Futaba greeted him when Akira had stepped through his door, removing his coat and boots by the entrance.

The woman was still in the _exact_ same spot on the couch as when he and Morgana had left her, though this time the coffee table littered with two earpieces (presumably Futaba’s and Morgana’s,) three shot glasses, a mostly-full bottle of his hardest whiskey (how did Futaba even know where he _hid_ that?) and a bowl of peanuts. As he stepped further into his apartment, he caught view of Morgana coddling his cat, a black kitten he’d picked up off the street years ago.

Mona (the cat) meowed up at him as he passed by, and Akira could really only give a smile and a small wave to his companions as he practically made a bee-line for his bedroom. All of his attention had been held captive by the thought of Goro Akechi since he’d been walking through the red light district, and now that he’d arrived in his home (finally able to send him that text now that thief work was done) Akira was basically swallowed by the _one_ objective he’d set for himself.

Send Akechi a text.

Once inside his bedroom, Akira shook off the suit jacket and threw _that_ (along with his trenchcoat) onto the grey covers of his bed, taking off his necktie and gloves, as well. From the nightstand beside his bed, he swiped his phone and padded back into the living room, afterwards letting himself plop down onto the cushions as he stared at the screen.

Now that he could actually do _the thing_ he wanted to do, Akira felt like backing out _completely_. In fact, he felt like he couldn’t ever text Akechi. What would a man even _say_ to someone like him? Akira was entirely hopeless with words— that was the _entire **reason**_ he even turned to making music in the first place!

He knew the others were already staring at him. He could practically _feel_ their eyes going from his face, to the phone he held. Futaba was the first to speak up, her voice laced with curiosity.

“Akira?”

She _had_ to have known what made him act like Mona chasing a cat toy already— Unrelenting and entirely _focused_ because of that _man_. Hell, Akira was live-texting updates of his Tuesday afternoon with Akechi and Ann to Futaba _while_ they were there!

He felt fingers brush against his ear, flinching in surprise as his eyes finally ripped away from boring a hole into his phone to look at the woman. Futaba held his earpiece in her hand before setting it down on the coffee table, exchanging it with a shot glass filled to the _brim_ with hard alcohol.

When she looked back at Akira, there was a finality in her gaze, like she’d come to a conclusion already.

“_Alright_,” she began, holding out the glass to him. Her free hand plucked the phone out of Akira’s hands, the man himself too stunned to really react to it.

“Did something happen that I should know about?” Morgana pitched in, Mona now on his lap.

Akira almost didn’t notice the purring ball of fur against the dark clothes his friend wore, if it weren’t for the bright, yellow collar around Mona’s neck. Before he could respond to his question, though, Futaba beat him to the punch.

“Oh, Akira just has this gigantic crush on a guy he met like, _yesterday_.”

Akira took the glass and downed the whiskey all in one go in that moment. Though he’d been a heavier drinker before once upon a time in his life, even _his_ tastebuds couldn’t stand very well against the hardest alcohol he owned— What was it at? 50%, 55% alcohol?

He couldn’t really remember; Didn’t really care all that much in the moment, either. His throat was _burning_, and a part of Akira was silently grateful for it taking his mind off of Akechi, even if only for a moment.

“_Ah_, so he’s smitten, isn’t he?”

“Basically,” Futaba hummed, reaffirming it with a nod.

After Akira set down the shot glass on the wooden surface of his coffee table, he made to take his phone back— which Futaba only transferred to her hand farthest from him, holding it out of his reach further by extending her arm back. She shook her head at him, almost scoldingly— as one would do to a puppy.

“_Nuh-uh_. I’m not giving this back until you tell me what happened after they ran outta Leblanc.”

Akira knew Futaba—He knew Futaba as well as she knew _him_—and it didn’t take much to piece two and two together before he slumped back into the cushions of the couch, a hand covering his eyes.

“I need another shot, then..” he muttered, the weight of his situation pulling his tone down with it.

It took more than one shot before Akira started talking— Actually, it took _three more_ shots of hard whiskey in his system before he started opening up to them.

The man had pulled his knees up to his chest, socked feet on the couch, as he leaned onto Futaba’s side. His chin rested atop his folded hands, and Akira’s eyes _alone_ looked like he’d _just_ gone to a funeral.

Maybe he did.  
Maybe he was finally realising that his chances with Akechi died _long_ ago.

“So..” Futaba began, her voice gentle as she prodded further, “What happened between you and Akechi yesterday?”

“Akechi gave me his number..” Akira mumbled, lips _barely_ moving. He wasn’t entirely sure if he even made a sound.

“I’m sorry, _what_?”

“_Akechi gave me his number_,” Akira repeated, louder this time. Was it the alcohol, or did Futaba just gasp for a _prolonged_ amount of time?

“_Yas_, boy!”

“_No_, not ‘_yas, boy_,’ I don’t know what to _do_!”

_Ooh_, he shouldn’t have sprung his head up. Or moved at all. Akira nearly fell forwards and slammed his face into the coffee table. He was grateful to Futaba for giving him support, both physically and emotionally.

See, the funny thing about Akira being drunk, was that his blood-alcohol content could be _well_ into shit-faced levels, and he still wouldn’t feel a single _thing_. How hard did he drink in the 22 years he lived for him to already _be_ like this?

Probably too hard.

“Okay, up you go, big guy.” Futaba was settling him back upright onto the couch, for which he could only mumble a thanks. Akira set his eyes on the phone in front of him on the coffee table.

“What do you mean by you don’t know what to do, though?” Morgana asked, leaning back onto his chair. Mona was sound asleep on his lap by then. The tone in Akira’s voice spelled the deepest of distress as he replied.

“I _mean_, I don’t know what I should text him or if I even _should_.”

“But you should.”

Morgana had said it so simply, so _easily_, that Akira could only look at him with confusion written all over his expression. He would’ve argued how utterly _complicated_ it just was, how he can’t just jump in and be all “_Hey, what’s up?_” on the guy after the disaster of their first real meeting.

It wasn’t like Akira could just approach Akechi like that. He found it hard— Harder than his decision to stay in Tokyo all those years ago; harder than accepting his fame as a DJ— Harder than believing that the literal _man of his dreams_ actually existed.

“Akira.”

There was a certain vulnerability in the way Morgana had called out his name, a note out of tune to his usual, self-assured way of talking that made him sound like he genuinely cared about Akira, in that moment.

The least he could do was actually _look_ at Morgana, despite only with the lift of his eyes.

“Look, the way I see it, if you’re _this_ smitten after knowing the guy for less than a day, I’d say that you have a genuine connection with him. You can tell me _all you want_ about it being based around the amount of interactions you have with someone, but there’s a way of bonding between people that happens even with just looking into their eyes, or just being in the same room with them.

“I’ve seen you get crushes before, Akira. You’re _never_ this self-conscious about approaching them first. You’re usually still confident like you are when you’re _Joker_, still brave like you are as _Arsene_. The fact that you’re acting like only _Akira_ now just tells me that this isn’t another one-time fling. You should text him. Don’t let this chance slip away or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

The next few minutes passed silently in his apartment after Morgana’s speech. Akira was stunned, and he knew by the way that Futaba was as still as him that _she_ was stunned, too. Really, just _who_ was Morgana?

Akira had tried to form a coherent sentence in his head, though with each word he put after the other, he’d go back and start from the beginning all over again.

Was it the whiskey, or was it because he _knew_ Morgana was right? Was it the alcohol flowing through his veins, or was it because Akira knew in himself that there was no counter to what he said, no _loophole_ available?

Silently, he could only take in a deep breath through his nose, eyes once more falling onto the black screen of his phone in lock mode. His hand reached to pick it off the table before he set one foot back onto the floor, then the other.

Akira brought the phone close to his face as he stood in the middle of the living room, his mind less clouded now, the decision which seemed impossible to make earlier now looking like it was just an average, everyday choice— and it was.

“I think I’m going to bed now, you know where your rooms are. Thanks for tonight, good job on the mission, and goodnight,” Akira said finally before nodding to both Futaba and Morgana.

He retreated into his bedroom. There would have been naught but darkness surrounding him if not for the glow of the moon beyond his bedroom window, streaming in through the white curtains.

Akira padded over to sit on the edge of his mattress, his thumb pressing the power button on his phone.  
When the screen lit up, there was a clarity in Akira’s eyes when he’d navigated his way to his contacts, though that couldn’t stop him from inhaling sharply as the name ‘Goro Akechi’ scrolled into view.

Akira tapped on his name and was brought to the messaging window, the phone’s keyboard sliding up automatically.  
His thumbs hovered above the characters as he aligned the words in his head. While it didn’t come _as_ naturally to him as forming a backing melody for a new track with just a few notes, eventually, Akira found himself typing away his message.

When he finally hit send and set the device back down on its spot on his nightstand, Akira felt the weight that was pressing down on his chest lighten.

The small smile on his cheeks never faded, even after he laid in bed and stared up at the dark ceiling—until, finally, Akira found rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so this is unbeta'd a n d unedited today bc it's five am and i've been writing this since 8 pm last night :'^))) you can't expect lynne and harvey to be awake rn y'all
> 
> y'know how i said i hated everything i wrote at first  
y e s well this is actually v e r s i o n 3 of chapter four omg i re-wrote the entire thing like three times guys  
i think what helped me get back into the groove of things is actually going outside of the house today. huh. who knew walking around would help
> 
> as a final thing, the entire time i've been suffering, i've been l i v e - t w e e t i n g everything into a twitter acc i made for persona lmao  
if y'all wanna see how i suffer in r e a l t i m e, message me directly about a n y t h i n g (no seriously you can hmu with a "i got TEA on this person" and i'd be 110% willing to hear it) or even directly affect how the story or characters go (bc im highkey just making this up as i go along and poll my friends about questions like "ok so who drunk cries more") y'all can go and check out @relictionism on twitter !
> 
> anyway, thanks so much for reading the fic and leaving kudos y'all i nearly cried when i saw how many hits and kudos this fic got :'^)) i seriously appreciate you guys i swear
> 
> here's the listen list !!  
nct u - 7th sense  
bts - fake love  
THE ENTIRE PERSONA 5 SOUNDTRACK LOOPED THREE TIMES.


	6. Track 05

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a day around shibuya.

Thursdays were usually filled with nothing but Goro and Ann either staying at home, lazing around for once together, or going out into town. It was on Thursdays that they didn’t have any classes to teach, as per their Monday-Wednesday-Friday-Saturday work schedule— But that was different today.

Today, Goro was at the studio, sweaty and slightly heaving from teaching his first class. He sat alone in one of the wide practise rooms, back to the wall beside the mirror with his water bottle and bag beside him. He had an hour to catch his breath and prepare for his next (and final) class of the day, though it really wasn’t even in his regular schedule to teach on Thursdays.  
The only reason he was really here was because one of their co-workers, Shina, had a wedding to attend to that day. She’d told them the month prior about it and so their work days were switched so that she could attend. Goro himself was the one who suggested the idea, even.

At least he didn’t have to go to work the next day. It’d be weird being by himself alone in the apartment, though, seeing as Ann still had to teach _her_ classes.

Shrugging to the thought, Goro produced a low hum from within his throat. He’d find a way to occupy himself, be it with a book or a binging marathon on TV. Maybe he could even hang out with Akira— But he was getting ahead of himself here.

What prompted that idea would have to be none other than the text Goro received from the man himself hours earlier— Precisely at _01:44_ in the morning. When he’d awoken at 6 am to a text from an unknown number sitting on the lockscreen of his phone, he was skeptical and wary as to what it might’ve been as anyone would be. After all, there were people going around scamming innocent citizens or sending them links to viruses— but when he’d actually read through the text, Goro could only scramble to form a reply, heart pumping _way_ too quickly for someone who’d just woken up.

Would this be a regular thing now? Getting flustered and nearly having a heart attack at the most basic of interactions with Akira? Given, one might say it was akin to whiplash, suddenly befriending the man one had been idolising for 12 months. Goro was unsure if he’d ever really register that as a fact in his brain at 100%. 

It was a back and forth process, trial and error, typing and erasing again— Because what if he added _this_ and sounded too desperate? What if _this_ made him sound uninterested? What if he came off as clingy or like he was overstepping bounds if he also typed in an emoji? Would Joker want him to be as casual as he?

But he was replying to _Akira_, though.. Somehow that just made things harder—There was a humanness to the man he looked up to now, and Goro was unsure how to cope with that. 

To admire the image of a person from afar, that was easy. That was _comfortable_; But to be able to reach out and potentially bare the layers of who he was would be something else _entirely_.

All in all, it took half an hour of his morning in bed to form four sentences he was satisfied with before he hit send and saved Akira’s number to his contact list, denying the flush in his cheeks the entire time. It was so _stupid_ to spend that much time on a _text_, but to be young and infatuated was a complex thing— One that Goro was only really starting to figure out.

When Goro left the house that morning for work (after showing Ann everything, of course,) Akira still hadn’t replied back. During the ten-minute break he always set for the class at the final stretch of their 90 minutes together, his message was still on unread. Was Akira just busy or still asleep? Goro figured the nocturnal lifestyle that man lived may have been it, but still, his mind went to less-than-desirable trains of thought— the kind that his puppy love-ridden head became overridden with an underlying jealousy for.

Why was Goro _like_ this? He was acting like a gods-damned _teenager_.

And then, there was the question— Was it really puppy love, or just simple admiration? It was a bit hard for someone like Goro to distinguish the two apart. To him, they were like two shades of grey, impossibly similar, though he knew there were slight differences. The only thing he was troubled with was what those differences _were_, exactly.

With less than a quarter of an hour left to spend his break time alone (because of the lack of Ann Takamaki in the studio that day) he opted to only message the girl, waiting for his final batch of students for the day to start coming into the practise room.

It really _had_ to be when Goro had his water bottle lifted to his lips, phone in hand as he texted Ann, did he feel it vibrate in his palm before a little pop-up at the top of his screen showed ‘**Akira**’ along with a little preview of his message. He had to gulp down the water _hard_ when he saw it, thumbs quick to fly across the keyboard as he informed Ann.

* * *

**A n n (sent 12:14)  
that’s the thing!! i have no idea what i should get her for our anniversary!!!**

**You (sent 12:16)  
Didn’t Shiho love it when we went to Destinyland? Maybe you should try taking her out on a date there for the. entire. day.**

**A n n (sent 12:16)  
wait omg actually that doesn’t sound too bad.**

**You (sent 12:17)**  
**What would you do without me?**  
**(You sent a sticker.)**

**You (sent 12:18)  
ANN**

**You (sent 12:18)  
ANN HE TEXTED BACK WHAT DO I DO.**

**A n n (sent 12:19)  
WAIT WHAT WHO??**

**A n n (sent 12:19)  
AKIRA??**

**You (sent 12:20)  
YES AKIRA.**

**A n n (sent 12:21)  
WELL WHAT DID HE EVEN SAY? IS IT ABOUT HANGING OUT OR WHAT??**

* * *

That was the part Goro dreaded. _Did_ he even want to read Akira’s reply now? Did he want to know what he said? How was it possible to feel both anxious _and_ excited at the same time?

After backing out of the chat window between he and Ann, the dancer immediately spotted the unread message sitting at the very top of his list. His heartrate _skyrocketed_ when his eyes landed on the bolded letters spelling ‘**Akira**,’ his bottom lip finding its way in-between his teeth.

Goro must have thumb-hovered above the message for a solid two minutes before he finally sucked it up and tapped on the message. Though his hesitation would’ve told him to turn around and not look at the message again (at least until after his classes, so he could have more time to _think_) it probably already registered on Akira’s phone that he’d read the message.

Ignoring it _now_ would be rude, plus what if Akira thought he was a snob? That would’ve been the _last_ thing Goro wanted at the moment.

After a deep breath in, his eyes focused the screen and read over the three messages in their chat window.

* * *

**Akira (sent 01:44)**  
**Hey, it’s Akira. I don’t know if you remember me but I’m that dude who chased you out into the rain to ask for your number?**  
**I just wanted to tell you that I had a really good time with you and Ann the other day in Leblanc. Maybe we could hang out again soon? Let me know when’s a good time for you guys. It’ll be my treat. :)**

**You (sent 06:36)  
I remember, haha. Actually, Ann and I are free later in the afternoon! I just have to finish all my classes before I can go. Should we just meet up somewhere or..?**

**Akira (sent 12:17)  
I can wait for you at the station square. What time are you out?**

* * *

Somehow, just those two sentences made Goro’s heartbeat dance in triple time. Was it the thought of hanging out again with Akira so soon that did it, or was it the wording of his reply?

Goro couldn’t deny that, if taken out of context, it could mean many things— For one, it could be perceived as it was (as friends hanging out); But at the same time, it could also very well be taken as an illegal and shady dealing; And _then_, there was the hopeless romantic part of Goro’s head that said “It sounds like something a husband would send his spouse.”

He decided to shoo that thought away, _far_ back into the deepest crevices of his subconscious.

_Akira is just a friend. Akira is just a friend. Akira is just. a. **friend**._

That chant wouldn’t leave his mind as he went back to the chat with Ann.

* * *

**You (sent 12:25)  
He wants to meet up at the station square when I get out.**

**A n n (sent 12:26)  
omg do it**

**You (sent 12:26)  
By myself???**

**You (sent 12:27)  
ANN.**

**A n n (sent 12:27)  
i’m kidding omg i’m not trusting him alone with you yet.**

**A n n (sent 12:28)  
so the square at 2 pm? shiho’s coming by at 1 so let’s just make it a double date.**

**You (sent 12:30)  
Ann Takamaki, it is not a date.**

**You (sent 12:30)  
WE’RE JUST HANGING OUT WHILE YOU AND SHIHO ARE ON A DATE. AKIRA AND I ARE JUST GOING TO BE THIRD AND FOURTH WHEEL.**

**A n n (sent 12:31)  
whatever keeps you sane pancake boy. ****≧** **(´** **▽｀)** **≦**

* * *

Just as Ann’s last message popped up into his screen, the first students of his last class filed into the practise room, and Goro quickly made to stuff his phone back into his bag before picking himself up off the floor.

Walking to his usual spot front and centre, Goro let himself smile at all the new (and old) faces of dancers who signed up for his class. When all of them settled their bags against the walls of the room and found spaces where they could work, he clapped his hands together once and beamed at them joyfully.

Akira should be in the back of his head for now. He took a deep breath, his heart already starting to race— From the thought of _him_, or from the prospect of teaching another set of dancers, he didn’t know.

“Alright!” Goro began, grin bright and friendly on his cheeks, “I’m amazed at how many people signed up for my class today and I’m _so_ thankful for you guys for wanting to learn under me. Like I say at the start of all my classes, this isn’t a _competition_, this isn’t an _audition_ or _anything_ that you have to feel pressured into being perfect at.

“This is just a dance class where you’re going to learn choreography with other people, yeah, but the _one_ thing that I want you guys to take away from this is to just _have fun_,”-Goro clapped his hands at each emphasised word-“I want you guys to love dance _because_ it’s dance, and I want you to move to the music because you were _born_ to. You could be someone who’s taking your first dance class right now, or someone who’s taking your fiftieth, but I want you guys to _know_ in yourselves that you are all _dancers_, and that’s.. That’s _amazing_.”

A cheer from one of the dancers, then a round of applause. Goro laughed briefly and bowed his head.

“I look forward to working with all of you dancers today, so let’s have some fun!”

After his little speech, Goro began the class.

The itinerary of his classes were always the same: Start by getting the dancers all warmed up first before showing them the choreography, and afterwards it would be a step-by-step tutorial and runbacks of the entire thing until they learned the whole dance. Goro would frequently have the dancers group themselves and perform the dance in front of the whole class both so he could help them fix small mistakes, _and_ so that they could all get their chance under the spotlight.

When that was done, it would be a small break to stay hydrated and rest for a bit, before they went through a final rundown and the cameraman came in.

The step-by-step part all went smoothly (for the most part) until the thought of Akira and his texts popped back into Goro’s mind. In his head, he could handle seeing the images of Akira’s smile.. His shiny, black eyes behind those glasses.. Hear his _laugh_..

Yeah, he could _definitely_ handle it. For _sure_.

But what really made Goro start messing up was the sudden realisation: He never typed out a reply.

He was too caught up in Ann teasing him that he forgot to go back to Akira’s message.

He basically left Akira on_ read_.

_Holy shit, no._

Needless to say, Goro started missing the beats and losing focus and even stumbling at times.

By the time he announced the ten-minute break, Goro tried to look as inconspicuous as _possible_ as he half-ran, mostly-rushed to his bag and scoured out his phone. 

Lo and behold, one entire hour had passed after he saw Akira’s reply and he indeed never said anything back. Goro wanted to slam his head against the mirror beside it.

It was tempting. There were other people in the room, though..

Goro rushed to type out a reply.

* * *

**You (sent 13:27)  
I’m so sorry I didn’t reply earlier! I had class and got caught up messaging Ann and I didn’t even realise I forgot to reply to you before my students started coming in and I’m so sorry!**

* * *

Goro was _sure_ at that point that Akira must have already thought that he was some kind of jerk. Who looks at the reply almost immediately after it was sent and waits an hour before texting back? Did Akira still want to hang out with him after that? Did he still even consider them acquaintance—

* * *

**Akira (sent 13:28)  
Don’t worry about it. You told me you still had work to do so I figured I might have sent that at a bad time. You still up for hanging out later?**

* * *

_What_.

It had to be a joke, right? Or was this just a hallucination? Akira was still _replying_?

Hesitantly, he typed out another text.

* * *

**You (sent 13:29)  
Yes, of course!**

**You (sent 13:29)  
I get out at 2 pm. Ann might get to the square earlier than me, but I’ll get there a little bit later.**

* * *

The small ping of a reply followed almost immediately after.

* * *

**Akira (sent 13:29)  
I’ll see you later then! ;)**

* * *

And Goro almost choked on the water he was trying to drink.

* * *

_Station Square, 2pm. Station Square, 2pm._

The only thing that really got him out of the chant he’d kept repeating in his head for the past five minutes was a scream coming from behind him.

“You did _what_ now?!” Futaba exclaimed, and Akira knew she’d shot up from laying on her back on his bed.

He kept rifling through the articles from within the closet built into the left wall of his bedroom, deciding to really only ignore Futaba until she explained what she meant by _him_ doing _what_. Besides, Akira was mentally too pre-occupied to really wrack his brain for what his sister was alluding to.

The choice he’d make would affect _lives_ and the _future_.

What should he wear to hanging out with Akechi and Ann?

Akira was torn between a black shirt under a white button-up, or a white v-neck with black trim under a dark grey jacket.

_Either would work.. But which looks better for today?_

“Futaba, which do you—“ he began, but as always, Futaba was three steps ahead. 

“Black shirt, white button-up. It makes you look more muscular. Now come here and _explain_ this to me!”

If the high and mighty Oracle _herself_ said so, he must follow. _That_ and there really wasn’t much time to debate on it any more than he already did.  
After returning the v-neck and the jacket back into the closet, Akira slid closed the doors and finally turned to actually _look_ at what Futaba found so atrocious.

The woman was cross-legged on his bed, absolutely _engrossed_ in his phone. Through the reflections on her lenses, Akira saw that she was scrolling through his chat logs— Which one, though, he still had yet to know.

Time to wonder on it got cut short when he had to duck out of the way of a pillow shot at him.

“_You_!” Futaba began, and Akira could see she already had another pillow armed and ready as she stood on the mattress, a wide grin spread across her cheeks with his phone in her free hand. He readied himself for an assault, though the corners of his own lips began pulling up as well. “Who are you and what did you do to the Akira who almost cried over the decision to text this guy! A winky emoji, really?!”

Akira easily dodged the next pillow thrown at him. Keeping his eye on Futaba, he picked it up and threw it back at her.

“What can I say, typos!” Akira retorted, running out of his bedroom and into the hallway. Before he headed the bathroom with his change of clothes, he made to do a quick showman bow, with his wide arm sweeps and all when he heard Futaba yell back at him, her tone all incredulity and smiles.

“Like _Hell_ it was a typo! Akira, you sly asshole!”

When Akira re-emerged from the bathroom, he’d brushed his teeth, mussed his hair up (now black and curly again, just like always) in the way he liked it, wiped his (fake) glasses and changed into the shirt-button up combo. He watched as Mona strode up to him, and Akira gathered the cat up in his arms before entering his bedroom again, Mona purring against his chest the entire time.

“If you want to attack me again, I have a hostage, Futaba!”

But he only felt Futaba’s hands push him back out of the bedroom and beyond so, all until Akira got the hint that he was being herded to the front door. When he’d been sat down on the steps to pull on his shoes, Mona had jumped out of his hold.

“I hope you realise you’ve only got fifteen more minutes until you gotta be there,” Futaba said, and that put things into perspective. Akira started actually rushing it. 

As he began tying up the laces, Futaba hurried back to his room and returned with his wallet, his phone, and the usual pair of earbuds he used on a regular basis. Gratefully, he accepted the survival kit, stuffed all items into his pockets, and stood by the entrance. Futaba assessed him up and down before nodding to herself.

“Man, you really do look like an NPC, though,” Futaba blurted. She shook her head when Akira could only chuckle.

“Yeah, love you, too, squirt,” Akira responded, grin wide on his cheeks. He reached over and placed his hand atop Futaba’s head, messing up her hair before she started swatting at him.

“Don’t feed Mona too much, alright?” he reminded, hand on the doorknob already. Akira had to look her in the eyes as he said it, afraid for his cat.

Futaba only stuck her tongue out at him before he left, and that was when Akira began weaving through the streets of the red light district. Keeping the time in mind, he didn’t hesitate to go through the shortcuts he knew like the back of his hand, and it was in no time at all that he reached the station.

As soon as the train stopped at Shibuya Station, Akira hopped off and made his way to the shortest possible route to the square. When he got there, he found himself a spot where he could look over the crowd and leaned his back against the wall, fishing his phone out of his pocket to check the time.

_14:02_, it read. Good, good— He wasn’t too late or too early.

Akira took out the wireless earbuds and slid them securely onto his lobes. As a _Tristam_ track began flowing into his head, his eyes searched the mass of people passing by, in search of either blonde or brunette hair.

The station square housed only a sea of black tresses, with only the occasional greying locks here and there. It didn’t take very long, though, before he saw long, pale hair in twintails bounce up and down among the crowd.

Akira pushed off the wall and tried to look above the other heads, glad to lock gazes with familiar, blue eyes.

As Ann Takamaki neared him, Akira realised she wasn’t alone. With her, as they walked with their fingers interlaced together, was a shorter woman with shoulder-length, black hair, whose bangs swept to the side and whose cocoa-like brown eyes were uncommon in Japan.

Akira thought that she looked familiar to him, too, like Ann did when he first saw her in Leblanc.

When Ann and the woman had reached him, Akira tried to smile as approachably as he could after cutting off the music from his phone. He slid the device into his back pocket.

“Hey Ann. Hello, miss..?” he greeted.

The woman had that shine of recognition in her eyes when Akira looked over from Ann to him, though she didn’t act on it. Instead, the woman bowed her head slightly.

“I’m Shiho Suzui. Ann invited me to come with, if that’s fine, Kurusu,” Suzui said as an introduction. Akira didn’t find it much unusual that she already knew his name— It could have been Ann who told her.

Akira nodded before bowing briefly, as well. One might call it unnecessary, but he was a man of manners.

“Akira Kurusu. You can just call me Akira if you want, Suzui.”

Suzui nodded, though Akira could see a question linger in her eyes as she looked at him. He couldn’t quite figure out what it might’ve been, the possibilities endless.

“Goro’s probably already out of the studio by now, Akira,” Ann said, “It won’t be long until he’s here.”

“Cool.”

And then, there was silence. Akira didn’t exactly know how to continue off from there, despite the social experience he had under his belt as Joker. That was the thing— As _Akira_, he barely interacted with anyone that wasn’t Ryuji, Yusuke, his family, and the customers in Café Leblanc. Akira was a ‘stay at home and be online all day with his cat beside him’ kind of guy.

So he was kind of stuck and internally scrambling to make conversation, just as long as it wasn’t about anything dull like the _weather_. Surprisingly enough, Suzui was the one that broke the awkward air that started to loom between them.

“I’m sorry if this is rude Akira, but are you hard of hearing?” she asked, and he could hear the hesitation in her voice, see the genuine innocent curiosity in her eyes— The one that he pinpointed earlier.

_So that was it._

Though the question _did_ take him aback, and Akira knew it had to be written on his face when Suzui suddenly began apologising and bowing her head. He put a hand on her shoulder and shook his own in an attempt to get her to stop.

“Please stop apologising, Suzui,” Akira prompted, his tone as gentle as he could get it, “I’m not hard of hearing, but why do you ask?”

Suzui then pointed an index finger to her ear. Akira’s brows furrowed more, head even tilting to the side. Was there something in her ear or—

“_Oh_!”

He forgot he was still wearing them, what with him always having either an earpiece or just regular earphones on.  
Akira hurriedly slipped off the earbuds sitting in his ears, afterwards holding out his hand to show them to the two ladies. On his cheeks, he wore a smile so sheepish you’d think _he_ did something embarrassing.

“I thought they were hearing aids, I’m sorry!” Suzui apologised again, but Akira was quick to shake his head once more just _in case_ she would go bowing again.

“They’re just regular earphones, Suzui. I was listening to some music when I was waiting here.”

Looking at them with that knowledge in mind, Akira thought the earphones he wore _did_ kind of resemble hearing aids, what with the black and blue shells that slotted against his earlobes to secure the wireless buds into his ear. He just never thought of them that way, he supposed, but maybe _that_ was why he’d usually get strange looks whenever he wore them out in public.

“It was an honest mistake, so please don’t worry about it,” Akira followed up, stuffing the earbuds back into his pocket. He smiled at Suzui, hoping the poor girl would stop beating herself up over it.

He made a mental note to maybe change up his default earphones later.

Akira snapped his head to Ann when the woman suddenly shouted, voice heard even above the hustle and bustle of the station square. The shine in her eyes were bright, the hand that wasn’t holding Suzui’s shooting up in a wave.

“Goro!”

It was instant. Akira followed her gaze, and could only suck in a breath at the sight of the man with chestnut brown hair. He could feel his heart start to race, could feel the blood rush straight to his cheeks.  
It may have only been a simple outfit but he wondered how Akechi could pull it off _that_ well: Red sleeves that reached his wrists from under a black pullover hoodie whose sleeves stopped only at his elbows, with small, white text (“I DON’T DANCE”) printed along the sides and on the chest. The white jeans Akechi wore had rips in them from his thighs down, but one could easily tell it was tastefully and artistically done, while the red of his low-cut sneakers tied with white laces completed the entire aesthetic.

He looked like the dancer that he was, and Akira couldn’t bring himself to rip his gaze away from how well the outfit fit him, how _cute_ he looked.

Maybe Akira should stop openly staring— But he kind of wanted to continue..

A tiny voice in the back of his head told him that he should probably close his mouth, as well.

Akira only managed to straighten himself up when those red eyes landed on him for just a _split_ second. He tried his damnest not to look like he was just eyeing Akechi up and down then, though his eyes clearly spelled _smitten_.

“Hey guys,” Akechi greeted, and Akira almost melted into a puddle at the small smile that brightened up Akechi’s features when he looked at him, “Hey Akira.”

“Hey,” Akira responded, and was it just him or did his voice come out quieter than he wanted? More _breathless_ than he wanted?

Akechi’s gaze averted from his, and Akira tried to look elsewhere, as well.

“Have you been waiting long?” Akechi asked, his eyes on Ann now. Akira shook his head, though Ann was the one to speak.

“We just got here, don’t worry.” Ann beamed at her friend. “So now that we’re all here, where should we head to first?”

All eyes looked to Akira, though he took it in stride, a smile pulling up on his cheeks. He didn’t come here unprepared.

“There’s an arcade in Central Street. Aside from that, there are a lot of shops we can go through.”

Akira’s pride swelled in his chest when Ann and Shiho expressed audible approval, the women seeming excited at the prospect of arcade games. Ann _especially_ looked giddy. Akira figured she liked games.

“_Yeah_! I haven’t been to Gigolo in a long time!” Ann said, stars in her irises.

“I can have another plushie at home..” Suzui murmured, lips split in a wide grin.

As the group herded over to the route onto Central Street, the women held hands and chatted together animatedly about what games they would play together, or who could score more points. Akira watched them with a smile on his lips, though his attention lingered on Akechi walking next to him, right behind Ann and Suzui.

Akira was acutely aware of the _exact_ moment Akechi pressed into his side lightly, his focus shifting entirely to Akechi’s head leaning ever so slightly closer to his when he spoke.

“Ann and Shiho are _crazy_ about the arcade. They always used to hang out there even in high school,” he said, a fondness in his eyes as he watched the two.

Akira couldn’t stop himself from keeping his eyes on Akechi. Had he passed the ‘staring for so long it’s creepy’ bounds yet? He hoped not. Akechi looked even more handsome up close.

“They’re _that_ close, huh?” Akira asked instead, and was rewarded with a single nod.

“Closer than me and Ann.”

Akira chuckled. He could only _imagine_ how close they were, then, if _Ann and Suzui_ were closer than _Ann and Goro_.

“You and Ann take care of a cat together and _she’s_ closer to her than you?” Akira joked, smile lopsided now.

For a second there, Akechi looked confused— _Very _confused. Akira saw it in his eyes first before anywhere else on his face, and then it seemed as if realisation dawned on him along with a shade of pink on his cheeks.

“You remember what I told you?”

“Well, yeah.” Akira nodded. Akechi’s cheeks seemed to flush redder with each passing second, each step closer to Gigolo Arcade they got.

“Actually, to be honest..” Akechi began, his gaze aimed at the ground now, “I actually lied about that. We don’t have a cat. Our apartment complex doesn’t allow pets.”

Akira mock-gasped at that dramatically and loudly, a hand going up to splay across his chest like he did that night outside of Leblanc. He was glad that Akechi looked up at him, and he had to stop himself from smiling or he’d ruin his own act.

“And my cat was _so_ ecstatic to meet yours! They were going to go on a kitty play date and fall in love then live happily ever after!” Akira cried out, feigning a look of hurt.

He took out his phone and pressed the power button. When the image of Mona’s face on his lockscreen stared back at him, he faced the screen to Akechi, who Akira could only guess was a bit startled judging by the way his eyes widened.

“Can you imagine how _hurt_ he’ll be?”

Silence, and then laughter. Sweet, bubbly laughter emanated from Akechi, and Akira allowed himself to smile at last. He would never tire of listening to Akechi’s laugh, could never stop himself from grinning as wide as he could whenever he was the one that brought that laughter out.

It was in that moment, with tears brimming in the corners of his eyes and with a wide smile adorning his features (making him more handsome than he already was) that Akira thought one thing— He thought that Goro Akechi was _beautiful_. 

“Mona is never interested in _anything_, though,” Akechi commented, one hand rubbing his eye, “If your Instagram stories are anything to base off of.”

How was it that Akira’s grin widened even more, now that he’d found something else to tease Akechi about? Why was it that the way his heart beat against his chest felt harder than it did before he knew that Akechi was apparently a fan of his?

“.. So you follow my Instagram, huh?” he nudged, teeth showing through the grin playing on his lips. Akira thought he must’ve resembled Futaba, then, with mischief spelling on all of his features.

Akechi’s cheeks darkened, the red of his face but a shade away from resembling a tomato.

_How cute can this man get, holy shit._

“_And_ Twitter. And he’s subscribed to your Youtube channel, too,” Ann joined in, head turned to look at them over her shoulder. Her smile was sweet as she gazed over to Akechi, and even _Shiho_ (the quiet and reserved girl Akira pegged her for earlier) couldn’t stop herself from laughing— laughing _hard_.

“Ann, _please_.” Akechi pleaded, glaring at the blonde woman. Ann didn’t waver, though, not _one_ bit.

“Should I mention that there isn’t a single day when I don’t hear your music in our apartment? Or that he’s got _all_ of your albums on his phone?” Ann added.

Akira— Well, _honestly_, he was prepared for many things that day. He was prepared for _any_ and _all_ situations that may arise. He had plans for _anything _that could happen.

But this? Knowing that Akechi, the man who he thought only came to his club twice and who he was absolutely and completely _infatuated_ over, liked Joker enough for him to not _only_ look him up online, but also follow his music and what he put out _plus_ his social media? That was too much. That was what made Akira hiccup in his so-far laidback persona.

With eyes widened behind his glasses, Akira stared at the man— not because he _wanted_ to this time, but because he _had_ to get confirmation that it was true from Akechi himself.

Judging by the reddened face _and_ neck Akechi boasted (which he tried to hide by pulling up his hood to rest on his head) there was no other answer— Akechi was a fan of Joker’s.

Akira really didn’t have any other coping mechanism in his head to properly process the information, so what did he do? He slid his arm across Akechi’s shoulders and held him, a grin (that he was _sure_ must’ve looked forced) on his cheeks.

“Aw, I feel flattered, Akechi!” Akira exclaimed, though it sounded awkward on his tongue, “Really, I am!”

The rest of the walk to Gigolo Arcade was spent in awkward silence between them, with Akira internally hitting himself the entire way.

It was really only when they arrived at the arcade that Akira thought to release Akechi from his hold. Ann and Suzui were quick to buy tokens for themselves, and the two boys could only follow behind, an invisible barrier separating the two of them.

When both Akira and Akechi had bought their own tokens, Ann and Suzui had already run off to the nearest crane machine. Under the dim lighting of the arcade, the lights of the machines all glowed and flashed in different colours, and Akira stood with Akechi in the midst of it all.

He gave a once-over to all the different games, deciding to speak up between them.

“So which do you want to play first?” he asked, raising his voice just a bit to be heard over all the machines and people.

Akechi was dazed and lost before he was spoken to, evident in how his eyes snapped up from blankly staring at a spot on the carpeted floor, gaze locking with Akira’s.

Akira watched as he turned his head left, assessed the crane games, then looked right, where the Gun About machine sat vacantly. Akira walked over to the machine and picked up the controller—Which was, appropriately, in the form of a fake gun—before entering his tokens into the slot under the controller’s rest.

When the Player One’s side of the screen was taken to the menu, Akira looked over his shoulder to peer at Goro, showing off the gun in his hand. He tried to smile as confidently as he could, if he were Joker.

“Up for a round of Gun About with me, Akechi? I have to warn you, though, it can be pretty hardcore playing against me.”

The shift in Akechi’s red eyes were hard to miss. The hesitance in them faded, and in its place, stood a competitiveness Akira had seen only _once_ before. Still, there was a smile playing on Akechi’s lips as he took the few steps to stand beside Akira before pushing his own tokens into the slot of the Player Two side.

He picked up the second controller-gun, eyes focused on the screen as he spoke back, tone confident.

“Is that a challenge?”

One round of co-op mode between them turned to two— Then _three_. By round four, there was already a sizeable crowd gathered around them, gasping with each enemy they took down, cheering whenever they proceeded to the next stage.

Akira hadn’t played against anyone like Akechi, as of late. While Akira was good at the game simply because of a certain pre-teen King he met long ago, Akechi shot at enemies like it was all he knew. His stance was like the textbook shooting posture Shinya had shown him, and though Akira was a _bit_ intimidated, he wielded his controller-gun with as much ferocity.

They were a team in Gun About, covering each other when the other couldn’t shoot at a target, raining an assault of bullets at each of the bosses together, informing each other about a target they couldn’t see. Their synchronicity came naturally, their movements almost mirror images.

When they’d finally beaten the final boss together and holstered their controllers back into the rests, Akechi and Akira were smiling at one another, bright and content. Akira could see the same look of satisfaction prominent in Akechi’s eyes that was, with no doubt, visible in his own, as well.

After they collected the tickets the machine had rewarded them with (the ones that they could redeem all sorts of prizes with) Akechi and Akira stepped away from the machine and moved around the arcade to look for Ann and Shiho. All the while, they talked about their teamwork and the thrill of playing Gun About, which eventually led Akechi to ask how Akira played so well.

“I have a friend who’s great at Gun About. He taught me how to play and shoot,” Akira replied simply.  
Though in the back of his mind, he knew that the _few_ times he’s had to wield a gun as Arsene _probably_ also helped.

Before Akira could ask the same question back to his friend, Akechi had already ran ahead to one row of machines, seemingly unprompted. Of course, Akira ran after him, tickets in his hands.

When he’d caught up, the bright, red sign of the Tekken machine made itself known, and right below one of the machines sat Ann. Going over to the other side where an identical machine was pressed against the one Ann played on showed Suzui in a similar state— But there was a little cat plushie sitting to the side of the buttons, right beside her arm.

Beside both machines stood Akechi, fingers circled around his chin as he observed the two women. From below the health bars of each of their characters, Akira saw two glowing circles on each team that signified their wins.  
This was their tie-breaking final match, he realised.

Akira took the spot beside the brunette and watched as Ann hunched over the buttons and the joystick. To the unassuming, one would simply brush her off as a button-masher, but Futaba had educated him on this.  
The button combinations Ann pressed weren’t at _all_ frantic or random— She was using a strategy, most likely executing her own combos with the Lili she handled.

_Right punch, left punch, right punch. Right-down with both kicks._

That sent a consecutive amount of damage on the Law character Lili was fighting, subsequently ending their match.

Ann shot up from her chair, hands balled into fists as she raised them high. The smile on her face was nothing short of victorious.

“_Yeah_! Don’t back outta the deal _now_, Shiho!”

Akira looked over to Suzui, who only pouted before sticking her tongue out at Ann, a stuffed toy in her arms now. She stepped over to the blonde woman, head suddenly laying on Ann’s shoulder. Suzui’s brown eyes stared up at blue ones, almost like a puppy would.

“_Ann_,” Suzui said, stretching out the name, “You can let me off the hook today, right? You said you’d buy me a crepe!”

“The deal was loser buys dinner! I’m not going to fall for your begging, Shiho!” 

Akira tried to stifle his laughter among their bickering, though the lopsided smile on his cheeks threatened to burst open.

“Are they _always_ like this?” he inquired, to which Akechi nodded.

“Only in the arcade, Akira.” Akechi’s eyes shifted from the girls, to the machines. “Only in the arcade.”

Did he mention that his name on Akechi’s lips was the best thing he’d heard all day? Because it was. Hearing Akechi say his name was like music to his ears, like melodies dancing around him all in harmony.

Akira looked to the side, if only in an attempt to hide the way his cheeks burned up— Though he would only look back to the three with a bright smile on his lips immediately after.

“Hey guys!” Akechi, Ann and Suzui all looked over to him, the latter two tangled together in a hug. “Do you guys still have any tokens left?”

Akira pointed his thumb behind him, where, beside a wall of windows, sat a Just Dance station.

Needless to say, they were all there within twenty seconds, with Ann and Akechi both the most excited about the prospect of the dancing game. Akira and Suzui had both given the two the rest of their tokens (because who could deny the way they _begged_ for the coins?) and only stood to the sides as the two pushed all their collected tokens in and began selecting a song.

Soon, Akechi and Ann were moving to the choreography they mirrored from the screen, Akira only clapping along with Suzui to cheer the two on.

Seeing Akechi dance in videos was different from seeing the real thing. As Akira watched the brunette move, his body hitting all the steps in a way that was both effortless _and_ impressive, he anticipated the familiar pounding of his chest he got from watching the videos of him on Youtube— But somehow, it was doubled.

Akechi laughing when he’d hit certain poses, smiling brightly, playing along the role of the dancer on the screen, made Akira sometimes slow his clapping and just stare, _mesmerised_ and _captivated_. It was like that night in his club, when he saw Akechi for the second time— When their eyes locked and Akira swore he saw fire burning fiercely behind those red eyes.

Those very same red eyes definitely burned again, but Akira saw the absolute _warmth_ in them now, saw the love he gave each move of his muscles and saw the energy they buzzed within as he enjoyed the moment dancing to a game with his friend.

For the second time that day, Akira thought that Goro Akechi was beautiful.

It took seven more songs and Akira dancing thrice for the game (with his God-awful dancing skills) before the four of them were out of Gigolo Arcade. Akechi had stuffed the tickets he and Akira won in his bag, and they once again walked along the asphalt of Central Street, each of them in various degrees of exhaustion and sweat. 

On their way to a diner Akira had suggested to be their next destination, the group found themselves looking into the glass window of a bookstore. It didn’t take very much persuading before they were inside the shop, looking through various books together.

Akira had wandered into the ‘Fiction’ section and pulled a random book off the shelf. After he flipped through the first few pages, he’d begun reading somewhere in the middle, where the book described stealing treasures and making a grand getaway. When he saw Akechi peering into the pages from the corner of his eye, he handed the book to the brunette, smiling at him as he did.

“It’s about Robin Hood, if you were wondering,” Akira said, just as Akechi had begun reading through the prologue himself.

“A thief that steals for the benefit of the lesser-privileged, hm?”

Akira nodded though it was pointless in how engrossed in the pages Akechi looked already. Reaching up into the next shelf up, his fingers made for another book— The cover of this one black with thin, red stripes. On the spine’s cover, in white, loopy text, read, ‘_P.T._’  
He flipped into the middle of the book, right into the action. The words told of a golden lion statue whose mane was composed of outstretched hands, and on top of the sentient beast sat a dictator in the uniform of an army general. With each sentence describing the attacks the group of heroes befell on the dictator, Akira found himself reading faster and faster, his heartbeat doubling, sweat starting to cover the back of his neck.

_“Arsene!” their leader shouted into the air, hand gripping the white domino mask sitting firmly over his eyes. Blue flames sprung up from around him, and he knew, by the heat alone, that the red-clad demon floated behind him._

_His crimson eyes pierced the weakening figure of the dictator, and with a final sweep of his arm, his voice rang amongst the grand music of the giant room._

_“Ravage him!”_

_A burst of dark energy shot at the dictator, and the man fell off his beast. He glared up at the group of heroes who now stood over him. Their leader, in the forefront, stared down at the defeated man, nothing but contempt in his gaze._

_“Damn you, brats! This isn’t the end, Phantom Thie—_

A tap on his shoulder brought Akira back to the real world, and the man could only dumbly look up, right into crimson eyes. Akechi held the closed Robin Hood book up, a smile on his cheeks.

“I’m buying this. Ann and Shiho are already at the cashier. Do you have anything you want?”

Akira looked back down on the book. He closed the pages and slid it back where he found it, shaking his head as he did.

“No, not really.”

Akira wouldn’t really pick it back up after he bought it, anyway. Knowing himself, he’d probably leave it on the coffee table, where Mona would subsequently tear it up.

Besides, it was weird— It almost felt like someone was watching him as he read through the black book. He got bad vibes, and he would trust his gut whenever that happened.

Unfortunately, his gut said “Leave the book” and so leave the book, he shall.

When the group paid for their books (Ann got a recipe book, Suzui got a book about volleyball, and Akechi got the Robin Hood book he found) they ventured straight to the local diner, prompted by one of their stomachs announcing its hunger— Or was it _all_ of their stomachs, in a simultaneous growl orchestra?

Either way, Akira knew he was hungry, and unfortunately, he couldn’t hold this one out for Leblanc’s curry.

It almost seemed like an unspoken custom between them when Akira had sat down at their booth— Ann was beside Shiho, and Akira was beside Akechi. The pairing had gone on since the start of their afternoon together, but Akira wouldn’t be the one to complain. Who _didn’t_ want to sit next to a crush?

Though when they’d gotten their meals, Akira found the _one_ fatal flaw in sitting at Goro Akechi’s left side.

It was simple, he was digging into the rice and the beef with his spoon (right hand) and Akechi was about to lift the fish and rice on _his_ spoon (left hand) up off the plate. What resulted instead was the two of them knocking arms so hard that their food only dropped back down onto their plates, black eyes meeting with red in shock.

Ann and Suzui promptly decided to laugh and tease them as they decided to get out of the booth and switch seats.

When all of them had finally begun eating, somehow, conversation went smoothly, too. Topics were suddenly easy to find, and by the end of their meal, Akira found out a bunch of facts between the three of his companions.

For starters, Ann was a gigantic sweet tooth who really liked portable games. She never left her and Akechi’s apartment without her PS Vita inside her bag, and she modeled as a side job because her parents were fashion designers.

Suzui was a physical therapist. Due to an “accident” (as she’d told him) she had in high school, she stopped playing volleyball and moved schools. Throughout the years, she and Ann kept contact and when Suzui had graduated from university, Ann had apparently attended her graduation ceremony.

Akechi was a genius in school, top of his grade in every year. At one point, he looked up to Naoto Shirogane (the apparent original Detective Prince) and wanted to be one himself before he scrapped the dream. He started dancing when he was a kid but he only really started taking classes at fifteen. With dance, he always had an athletic background as a wall-climber and a cyclist. Also, Akechi’s favourite album was _House of Cards_— an original album of Joker’s, the first of his three.

You could damn bet that Akira had flushed when Ann revealed that fact about her friend.

Of course, though, with learning more about the three, he also had to tell them about himself.  
He told them about moving to Tokyo when he was sixteen under “_difficult circumstances_,” he told them about learning how to make coffee from Sojiro, told them about knowing how to play piano because of his parents and how _that_ turned to producing music, up until his fame rose more and more with each year that passed until he was eventually travelling around Japan as a paid DJ.

It was really only when he finished telling them about how he’d found Mona outside Leblanc that he thought to check his phone for the time.

Under the big ’_18:39’_ at the top of his lockscreen were three messages: Two from Futaba, one from Sojiro.

Akira made to gloss over them as quickly as he could under the table.

* * *

**Shorty (sent 17:30)  
yo when you getting home ? dad’s asking when im getting back **

**Shorty (sent 18:00)  
and thus, as the sun sets and im stuck in your apartment with no one but a sleeping cat, all i can do is watch ghibli and raid your kitchen. goodbye dad, im never going to see you again because akira’s never coming home from his date with a boy**

* * *

_Dramatic nerd_, was the first thing that popped into Akira’s head after reading Futaba’s texts to him, eyes rolling before he went to read Sojiro’s lone message.

* * *

**dad (sent 17:22)  
What time are you taking Futaba home? It’s dangerous travelling at night. Always be careful, Akira.**

* * *

Akira pocketed his phone again after smiling at the message Sojiro had sent. _Truly_, he’d gone a long way from being scolded everyday by the man when he was but a 16-year-old, to _this_.

“Is anything wrong, Akira?” Shiho had asked. All of them looked at him curiously, though Akira would only shake his head in response.

“No, no. My sister’s just asking when I’m taking her home, is all. It’s hard for her to be around a really big crowd so she really can’t just go straight into the station by herself.”

“You have a sister in Tokyo?” Ann asked, perking up slightly from her glass of water.

“We’re not related by blood, but Futaba is basically family to me. Boss is our dad.”

Ann looked over from him, to Akechi then. Akira couldn’t read her features quick enough before she turned back to him, only nodding in response.

Akechi was the next to speak among them.

“Where are you picking her up? Maybe we could meet her.”

Akira smiled at him, head shaking.

“She’s babysitting my cat right now, so I’ll be going back to my place. Maybe in Leblanc, though?”

“I guess it _is_ getting late,” Shiho said, checking her phone herself.

“How should we split the bill?” Ann asked, already digging into her bag for her wallet.

“Nah, I got this,” Akira spoke up, wallet already in hand. He pulled a 5000-yen bill from within it and set it down on their table before he scooted out of his seat. When he turned to look back at the three (who were all moving to stand as well) he beamed at them.

“I mean, I was the one that invited you guys out today, so I want it to be my treat tonight.”

“Thanks, Akira!”

“Yeah, thank you so much.”

“We appreciate it.”

There it was again, his pride swelling up. _Man_, it felt good to be seen as cool.

They all talked among themselves on the way to the station once more, surrounded by bright signs and lights under the dark, evening sky— Well, it was mostly just Akira talking to Akechi with Ann and Shiho butting in (and the other way around) but it was a good time. He got to know his new friends _and_ hang out with the literal man of his dreams, so it was a win for him.

They really only had to separate when Akira’s train was bound for Shinjuku, and the others’ were going in the opposite direction— So after asking for Ann and Shiho’s contact information and a final goodbye for the night, he’d waved as he walked off, smile wide and joyful on his cheeks all the same.

Akira walked the rest of the way home after he’d gotten off the train at Shinjuku, his mood at a high point. When he’d entered the code to his lock and pushed through the doors, the man called out to the space of his home, sneakers already toed off by the entrance.

“Hey, I’m back! Are you still alive?”

The lights in the living room were off, though when Akira had padded over to the area, he saw the visuals from his TV reflect onto a pair of lenses.

The Cat Returns (as Akira recognised, it being Futaba’s favourite Ghibli film and all) played on the screen, the volume low. On the couch laid a small figure under a blanket, unkempt, orange hair splayed everywhere on one sofa arm. Futaba’s glasses were skewed on her face, and Mona was laying on top of the woman’s stomach, fast asleep himself.

Akira checked the time on his phone.

_19:04_

He still had time to take her home and get ready.

Akira went to behind the couch and leaned over the back, one hand reaching out to poke Futaba’s nose.

The woman only scrunched it up in response, so Akira resorted to more desperate measures.  
He picked up the soundly-sleeping Mona and held him up over Futaba’s face, letting the cat’s tail move slightly against her nose until she stirred open her eyes with a confused “Huh?” leaving her lips.

Akira grinned down at Futaba, setting the black cat down on the floor next to his feet afterwards.

“You’re already back..?” Futaba questioned sleepily, one hand rubbing at her eye under the lens.

“It’s past seven, squirt.” was all Akira replied with. 

Futaba looked from his face to the TV, then to the window, and back to him. A yawn left her lips as she sat up, arms stretching upwards. Akira heard multiple _cracks_ and _pops_ emanate from her bones.

“How long have I been knocked out?”

“About an hour, give or take.”

“_Oh_.”

Akira moved over to the wall between the living room and the entrance, afterwards flicking on the lights for the area. When the fluorescents bathed her in light, Futaba groaned at the brightness, eyes squinting as they adjusted.

“You still have to open the club later, don’t you?” Futaba asked, well enough to stand now. She gathered up her laptop sitting on the coffee table, wasting no time to turn to the halls that led to her room— Which was really just the guest room but occupied with a lot of her belongings.

Akira didn’t bother to follow her, instead making to tidy up the living room as much as he could after switching off the TV.

When Futaba had re-emerged from her room, she had her backpack strapped to her back, laptop undoubtedly sitting snugly inside. With a final yawn, she headed straight for the entrance.

When both of them had their shoes on, Akira walked with her out of the red light district and into the station, where they boarded a train bound for Yongen-jaya. All the while, he stuck close to Futaba, making sure to protect her from anyone in the cramped, limited space of the commute, as well, as per their usual routine.

By the time he’d taken her to the Sakura residence, apologised to his dad about not texting back and bringing Futaba home late, _and_ circled the way back to his apartment, 45 minutes had passed and Akira had to bust ass to get showered and changed into another DJ-ing outfit. As he pulled on his signature leather gloves (the red, fingerless ones) he’d already gotten a text from Ryuji saying he and Yusuke were already downstairs for pre-opening prep.

Akira ducked into his room only briefly to snatch his laptop and his usual pair of headphones off from beside his work station before switching off all the lights in his apartment, making sure to flick the switches on for the lights _downstairs_ as well. After he picked up the keys to The Metaverse, he left through the door and jogged down the stairs to meet with Ryuji and Yusuke at the entrance of the club, all the while having a bright smile on his cheeks.

“Hey,” he greeted, keys already jamming into the door of The Metaverse.

“_You_ look happy tonight. Sumthin’ good happen to you?” Ryuji asked.

When the entrance to the club swung open, Akira could only turn to look at the two, nodding just once.

“I had a good day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT'S THIS? I FINALLY UPDATED??  
YES.
> 
> IT'S AT 9K WORDS RN Y'ALL I'M SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO GET OUT.  
fr though, i really do feel hella bad at this taking s o l o n g to finish. i really shouldn't rush things but e h
> 
> i really appreciate you guys still reading tho ?? like thank you all so much for the kudos and the h i t s oh my god you guys are great wow thank you so much
> 
> listen list !! (songs that got me through this chapter)  
the music in the ateez performance video  
bts - fake love  
tristam - questions  
tristam ft. karma fields - empire of sound (build the cities)  
betty who - right here  
b jyun - breeze


	7. Track 06

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a quiet afternoon in leblanc.

_This is fine. This is completely **okay**. I’m just a customer going to a café because I like the place. Who knows? Maybe Akira’s still got the day off and it’s just Boss there again. Yeah._

That was what Goro told himself— what he’d been _telling_ himself since he’d left his and Ann’s apartment with a messenger bag hanging off his shoulders and with a not-at-all clear mind.

It was just going to Café Leblanc to hang out there for the afternoon because Ann wouldn’t be home for the rest of the day. There was nothing wrong with that, right? Besides, he wanted Ann and Shiho to have that dinner date to _themselves_ for once without _him_ third-wheeling.

_This is the perfect opportunity to get into the Robin Hood novel,_ one part of his brain reasoned.

_I missed the house blend at Leblanc,_ another said.

_Akira might be there._

Goro must’ve not-at-all looked like he was crazy for suddenly burying his face into his palms in the middle of his stroll, face burning. He had to get a grip on himself here. There was nothing wrong with wanting to see Akira, right? Akira was his _friend_ after all— It wasn’t weird for one to want to see their friend!

That would’ve appeased Goro, if only it weren’t for the fact that he’d hung out with Akira just the day before.

His mind flashed to the few minutes he was under Akira’s arm on the way to Gigolo— How he felt like he was under cardiac arrest just from being so close to the man, how the hoodie he wore felt _too_ hot all of a sudden then.

Maybe he should turn back now. With how warm his face and neck felt, maybe he was coming down with a sudden fever. That _had_ to be it, because if the heat in his cheeks, the sweaty palms and the way his heart pounded against his chest were from anything else, Goro wouldn’t know how to properly cope with it.

But he wasn’t stupid. He _knew_ himself. He knew _exactly_ why he felt an onslaught of nervousness the moment he stepped foot in Yongen-jaya, but would it be so bad not to want to admit it to himself? Even if he _did_, Goro was more certain than anything that Akira must’ve been straight. Or had a girlfriend he hadn’t said a thing about yet.

But then again, maybe he already _did_ drop hints regarding that. What if he were only lying to them yesterday about that Futaba girl? What if it was just a cover-up to be able to see the girl who _could_ have been his actual SO?

Goro believed he was the most logical person he knew, but in that moment as he neared Café Leblanc, he felt like the most irrational person in the world instead. It (he) was just so _incredibly_ stupid.

He really only realised he was even _in_ Leblanc when he heard the bell ring above his head. Goro didn’t even realise he’d rounded the corner into the street Leblanc hid in before that moment. Had his feet already memorised the way to the little cafe? Enough for him to drown in his thoughts and still be able to end up there?

The sight he walked in on was certainly quite a scene, though.

Long, flowing, ginger locks strewn about disorderly under a balled-up fist, with the head who owned those locks trapped under a familiar, strong arm.

The moment Goro walked in seemed to be when the struggle paused, as the two people behind the counter looked like a still picture as they held their poses, though stared right back at him. Both of them, as the dancer noted, wore similar, thickly-framed black glasses.

“.. Hey?” Goro eventually heard himself say. The woman, whose face was previously painted in shock, now contorted into an expression Goro could only call _intimidating_— She looked like the epitome of the ‘evil genius’ trope, with a grin so wide that it rivalled that of the Cheshire Cat’s.

“Akechi! Hey! How are you?” Akira had replied quickly, just as the woman had squirmed out of his grip under his chest.

Goro could only watch as she made a bee-line for him, the big, brown eyes under her glasses positively _beaming_ with sheer curiosity. It was only when the woman stood in front of him did he realise how _small_ she actually was (Goro was a full head and a half above her,) though that not at _all_ made him feel less intimidated.

Glancing at Akira, he realised that the man actually looked _more_ scared than him, his face visibly showcasing fear with widened eyes and a gaping mouth that looked at a loss for words.

“You must be Goro Akechi!” the woman began, and the way she looked up at Goro reminded him of the goggles pendant he saw those few days before— Which really only made him begin to sweat with nervousness, a different kind from seeing Akira.

“I’m Futaba Sakura, Akira’s personal pain in the ass!”

It was then that the next few things happened in a blur before Goro himself could properly introduce who he was: His hand was grabbed and he was promptly dragged through the café with stumbling feet to the farthest booth from the door, where a phone and a white laptop both sat screen-up atop the table. He wasn’t sure if it was _him_ who made the decision to sit or if it was Sakura herding him onto the upholstery, but either way, Goro was on the sofa, looking straight into brown eyes that _oozed_ mischief.

“Futaba, please don’t do this—“

“_Relax_, dumb-dumb. I won’t say anything _compromising_ for you or your image, okay?” Sakura smiled, though when Goro looked to the bespectacled man standing behind the bar counter, it didn’t seem like that offered much comfort to him anyway.

“So!” Goro’s head snapped back to the redheaded woman, his mind at full attention. _She_ was the Futaba Akira had told them about?

_She’s a curious girl.._

“What do you think of my brother, Akechi?” Sakura asked simply, chin resting on her folded hands as she leaned further into the table. Her face spelled pure interest, but whether it was in Goro or his relation to Akira, he wasn’t sure. By so _casually_ calling Akira her brother, though, she’d just about dismantled his earlier theory about Akira lying to them about her.

Should he be glad or not? Right now, Goro was confused about many things.

But who could answer a question like that out of the blue? Goro would’ve blurted out _all_ the things he thought of Akira (how handsome he found him, how amazingly _deep_ and _melodic_ his voice was, how much he admired the talent he possessed in music and how absolutely and completely _infatuated_ he was with Akira) if he hadn’t caught himself as he’d opened his mouth, instead clamping it shut in a line as he grabbed his chin. He looked down on the table and thought about the question, choosing his words as carefully as he could. The entire point of not giving himself away was to maintain his friendship with Akira here.

It must’ve been a full two minutes before Goro was satisfied with the answer he’d formulated in his head. He looked back up to meet Sakura’s curious gaze.

“I think Akira is a really funny and nice guy. He’s fun to hang out with and he seems like mood-maker of a group. I find that I like his music a lot and that he’s very talented at what he does.” Goro paused for a bit, contemplating whether to add his final thought or not. In the end, he decided to be truthful. “It also seems to me like he’s caring, if what he told us about taking you home last night was true.”

Sakura nodded with each point he made, especially so at the mention of taking her home. All the while, she kept her eyes on him.

“So definitely boyfriend material, right?”

Sakura had said it so _straightforwardly_, so _simply_ as if she were only asking him about his favourite colour. Goro had to admit, he didn’t even fully register the question in his head when he’d heard it, and could really only stare back at the woman blankly, a hesitant smile on his lips.

“Ex.. _Excuse me_?” he asked, doing his best to keep the composure on his face— There was no doubt in his mind that he must’ve been beet-red already, though.

Goro heard a thump from the counter, finding Akira gone when he’d looked over to it.

“See, Akira’s had this _massive_ crush on someone he met for a while now and he’s been all ‘_woe is **me**’_”-Sakura stuck a dramatic pose, one hand on her temple- “over ‘_not being good enough’_ for that person. Did I get that right, dumb-dumb?”

Goro heard a groan from the bar. Wait, was Akira _hiding_ _under the counter_?

“So I wanted your opinion, Akechi!” The smile on Sakura’s cheeks were _far_ from innocent, though Goro could only guess it was the joy she got at teasing Akira. Faintly, he could feel the consecutive vibrations under his palms coming from the phone on the table.

_At least she was forthright about herself.._

“Don’t you think Akira is boyfriend material or what?”

* * *

**You (sent 14:53)  
FUTABA PLEASE**

**You (sent 14:53)  
PLEASE STOP**

**You (sent 14:54)  
PLEASE I’LL GIVE YOU ANY FIGURINE YOU WANT LPEASE STOP TALKING**

**You (sent 14:54)  
FUTABA.**

**You (sent 14:55)  
WHATHAPPENED TO “NOTHING COMPROMISING” HU7H**

* * *

Akira stared _hard_ into the screen of his phone, back pressed against one of the cabinets of the bar counter. It was a miracle that all the blood in his body hadn’t rushed to his face yet, but it sure as Hell _felt_ like it. His face was warmer than it’d ever been before and Akira thought he should’ve passed out already, if only to save him from the predicament he found himself in.

As he sat there on the floor at Café Leblanc, firing useless text after text pleading, _begging_ Futaba to stop, he had to wonder, _why him_? Why _now_? Why was this happening when he was _there_ to hear the interrogation Futaba was conducting on Akechi? Why did he even trust Futaba not to bring it up in the first place?

But silence lingered in the air of the café for a minute, the question left hanging unanswered— and then _two_— and then Akira stopped counting the time by the 5-minute point. Neither Futaba nor Akechi were speaking, and Akira let the idea of rising from his spot cross his mind for a hot second.

If he really _was_ going to do that, first, he needed to think of what to say. He needed an _excuse_ (the most believable lie he could muster) to make the entire interrogation as unsuspicious as possible.

But Akechi used to be a detective— an _amateur_, yeah, but a detective either way. Back that up with his honour roll grades and Akira wasn’t too confident on making something up that could get past the dancer’s smarts.

Any way he went about it, it ended with Akechi finding out about his dumb crush. Every elaborate scheme his mind conjured had a loophole that he was sure Akechi would exploit.

_Someone, **please**, save me, fuck._

The entrance’s bell rang.

“_Yo_, Futaba! Seen my buddy around anywhere?”

Akira didn’t need to peer up from his hiding spot to know who it was. The voice _alone_ brought the image of spiky, blonde hair and burnt umber irises to his mind.

But what the heck was Ryuji doing at the café _that_ early? His training session with the Shujin track team didn’t finish for another three hours. Akira told him time and time again that _just because_ he was the trainer now didn’t mean that he could still skip practise.

If he were to be honest, though, he didn’t really care about that at the moment. He was just glad that Ryuji (his _best_ buddy, the man who was going to get a free ramen from Akira) arrived at the right moment again to save him from peril.

Quickly, Akira backed out of his chat log with Futaba to go straight to the one he had with Ryuji.

* * *

**You (sent 15:02)  
ok so i need your help don’t even ask why but i need you to make futaba change the topic**

**You (sent 15:02)  
bring up featherman or smth just please do this for me**

* * *

“Ryuji, perfect timing! I wanna introduce you to a friend!”

Feet clambering. That’s all Akira heard for a brief moment before Futaba spoke up again. All Akira could really think in that moment was _what_ God up there thought that his suffering was comedic.

“Akechi, this is Ryuji Sakamoto! Akira and him go _way_ back.”

Akira shifted a bit on his spot on the floor, checking the messages he sent Ryuji again. They were still unread.

“My name is Goro Akechi, pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”

Akira could just _see_ Akechi doing that little head bow he did when he was introducing himself to Akira, with eyes closed and with that polite smile on his lips and _everything_. Those little details _did_ sear themselves into his mind’s eye, with just about every smile or look the dancer gave him.

He couldn’t get them out of his head.

“No need to talk so politely. Any friend of Akira’s a friend of mine. Call me Ryuji!”

There was no question that Ryuji was smiling that biggest, goofiest grin he had— The trademark of his best friend, really.  
Ryuji had to be the friendliest person he’d ever met. Though the rough exterior _did_ intimidate a lot of people at first, he was one of the truest, most _loyal_ people in Akira’s life, and Akira was truly grateful to the man for sticking with him throughout the tough years at Shujin, and _beyond_ so.

If he had to describe Ryuji as a _whole_, he wouldn’t hesitate to say that Ryuji had a heart of gold.

“Oh, look at the time!” Futaba suddenly spoke up then. Akira tuned back in on the conversation.

“Ryuji, didn’t you say you’d go to Electric Town with me today? Let’s 1v1 each other at Gigolo, come on!”

“Wait, _what_— Futaba I still have something to tell Akira—“

“Come _on_, before the arcade fills up with high schoolers!”

The entrance bell rang again, right after he heard feet skitter against the wooden floor. Silence lingered in the café for a bit, all until he heard Akechi’s voice call out to him.

“The coast is clear. You can come out, Akira.”

Akira made to fix his hair and pocket his phone before springing up from the floor. Though sitting for so long with his legs pulled up to his chest _did_ leave them numb and asleep, Akira painstakingly crossed his feet together, static shooting up his legs. One hand laid palm-down on the counter, the other coming to his hip as he leaned forward. His cheeks displayed the _most_ casual smile he could pull.

He had to play this off cool.

“_Hello_ dear customer who totally didn’t just see me come out from hiding. What can I get ya today?”

“One house blend if you will, mister barista man,” Akechi laughed, and Akira felt himself relax at the sound. 

_Good, okay. He isn’t bothered_.

Going through the motions of his everyday work was second-nature to Akira, more than DJ-ing or thieving could ever be.  
He grabbed a saucer and a cup from the counter and set both down on his workspace. Walking over to the kitchen, he measured his water and poured it into the café’s gooseneck kettle before setting it to boil, and afterwards he headed to the rightmost shelf behind the counter to pick out Leblanc’s house blend beans. Using a measuring cup he’d brought over from the kitchen, he scooped out enough beans for one cup and brought it to the manual grinder sitting beside the cup.

“So that was Futaba, huh?”

Akira was in the midst of cranking the handle to grind the beans when Akechi had broken the silence. Focused on getting an even grind out of the beans, the barista could only glance briefly up at Akechi and nod once before he let his eyes fall over the grinder again. As he worked, though, he would reply.

“Yeah. I’m sorry if she was a little pushy.”

“No, no! She was perfectly fine. A bit fast-paced, though.”

As he collected the coarse-fine grinds, Akira chuckled, nodding again. He couldn’t deny that.

“She’s like that. Futaba’s not too bad when you actually get to know her.”

Akira left the grinds next to Akechi’s still-empty cup when he went to place the coffee drip atop it, as well as placing a paper filter within the ceramic cone of the drip. Circling back to the kitchen, he turned off the stove and placed his hand on the wooden handle of the kettle to test its heat against his skin.

“And that Ryuji guy.. Isn’t he the club’s bouncer?” Akechi asked again, right when Akira had once more stepped out of the kitchen with the kettle in hand.

“Since the start, yeah. I was the one who offered him the job.”

He poured some hot water into the empty filter to pre-heat the paper as he replied. Setting the kettle down onto a heat-resistant placemat, Akira picked up the coffee cup to bring it to the kitchen and throw away the water in the sink. When he’d gotten back to his workspace, he finally poured the grinds into the filter and picked up the kettle again.

Akira took in a deep breath as he (as _carefully_ as he could) poured a _fraction_ of the cup’s worth of water around the bed of coffee, doing his best to keep it even all around. He kept his hand around the kettle’s handle when he’d set it down again momentarily, keeping his eye on his wristwatch as he counted down the half-minute it took for the coffee to brew and drip onto the cup.

“And you guys are close?”

“Well, he’s my best friend,” Akira replied, now hunched over the coffee drip again as he poured around the same amount of water into the coffee bed.

His face must’ve shown the way he concentrated on finishing up the house blend, because afterwards, Akechi had been as silent as he was. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, though chose to ignore it.

All in all, three minutes of a back and forth between pouring and letting the coffee drip passed before Akira set the kettle down on the placemat for the final time. As he stared down at the full cup of coffee, the smile on his cheeks was victorious and satisfied. 

He picked up the saucer and balanced the cup above it when he rounded the counter and set it down on the table before Akechi, whom he noticed had his head in a familiar book.  
The smell of Leblanc’s house blend must’ve been the thing to bring him back to reality. Akira grinned down at Akechi, just as those red eyes shot up to meet his own. 

“Here’s your coffee, dear customer. Anything else I can get ya?”

_Please say “your heart,” please say “your heart,” please say “your heart.”_

The smile that pulled up from Akechi’s cheeks made him hope so, though Akira knew the more realistic thing was,

“Actually, I can use some company.”

_Called it_.

Akechi set the Robin Hood book down and gestured towards the seat opposite his own, which Akira gladly claimed. It would be around this time that Leblanc was slow, anyway, so he could afford to sit and chat for a while.

Akira set his palms down on the table and let his cheek rest on it. His eyes gazed up at Akechi, doing nothing but admiring the way those red irises burned warmly (akin to a fireplace on a cold winter night) as he took his first sip.

“So _good_..” he heard the brunette mumble. Whether he wanted Akira to hear it or not, Akira wasn’t sure.

Still, the smile on his cheeks stretched up, just a bit.

“I’m glad you like my coffee.”

Akechi snorted at him as he set the cup down, a single brow quirked up. His lips played up into a cheeky smile, and for a moment, Akira thought that they must’ve tasted a bit like coffee if he were to kiss him.

“No dramatic line this time? No “_I made it with all my love_” or something?”

“I made it with all my love for you,” Akira shot back just as quickly, teeth showing through his grin as he ‘_played along_.’

_It isn’t entirely an act this time_.

That one sentence must’ve been what made Akechi freeze up, if only just for a second. Akira couldn’t deny the satisfaction that made him chuckle quietly seeing a pretty flush bloom across the brunette’s cheeks, his shoulders tensing up. There was no doubt to Akira that behind those eyes, Akechi was starting to search for the words.

“Akira!”

“You wanted a dramatic line, you _got_ a dramatic line!” Akira laughed, holding up one hand in a peace sign as he did.

“But you can’t just _say_ that!”

Akechi was shaking his head now, maybe more so than necessary— which really only served to make Akira laugh more.

“Technically, _you_ said it first!”

“It was a joke!”

Akira cupped his own cheeks with both hands as he sat up, looking up at Akechi with a little pout playing on his lips. His eyes feigned innocence; Akechi’s, however, showed only increasing embarrassment.

“Does that mean that _Akechi-kins_ doesn’t like me anymore?”

“Akira Kurusu, I swear if you don’t stop right _now_..!”

At this point, Akechi had resorted to naught but hiding his face behind his hands, the book and coffee abandoned in front of him. Akira let out the last of his laughing fit, before leaning back into the plush of the couch as he grinned at the brunette.

“I _really_ wasn’t wrong when I found out you’re easy to mess with, huh?” he prodded, the same, shit-eating grin still wide on his cheeks as Akechi’s hands slid off from his face.

It would’ve been an understatement to say that his cheeks were just _one_ more shade away from resembling a cherry. Akira found it extremely adorable, coupled with how _easy_ it actually was to make Goro Akechi blush bright red.

“.. Jerk.”

Akira leaned back into the table, resting his cheek on one palm now as he looked at Akechi. The smile on his lips was almost _proud_, even.

“Guilty as charged. What’re you reading?”

“Well, if you _must_ know,” Akechi began, straightening up in his seat. Akira watched as one hand tucked a stray lock of hair out of his face, trapping it behind his ear. His lobe was a fading shade of pink.

_He’s a neck blusher **and** an ear blusher? How cute can you get?!_

Akechi picked up the book and held it up _just_ below his eyes, displaying the cover to Akira. He already knew that it was the same novel he’d given to Akechi the day previous though nodded anyway, as if he only just _then_ realised.

“You’re really going to read it, huh?”

“I wouldn’t have bought it if I didn’t plan on reading it,” Akechi shrugged, though set the book back down in exchange for his coffee. “Why didn’t you get that book you were reading, by the way?”

Now it was Akira’s turn to shrug.

“To be honest? It was because I got bad vibes from it.”

“’_Bad vibes_?’” Akechi laughed, incredulous. Akira could only nod, a little smile pulling up by the corners of his lips.

“Bad vibes.” Akira nodded once more, eyes closing. “Plus, I’m sure Mona would’ve gotten his claws on it faster than I could save it. A story that intense should be saved for a person who would actually _read_ it and not just leave it out in the open for black cats to use as a scratching post.”

“Ah, understandable.”

Silence befell the air between them again, and after a minute of Akechi only sipping his coffee, Akira took the chance to take out his phone and look at the messages he’d received earlier.

* * *

**#1 BRO (sent 15:34)  
dude sorry i didn’t get to read your txt until futaba dragged me out**

**#1 BRO (sent 15:35)  
where were you tho**

**You (sent 16:09)  
sorry was busy.**

**You (sent 16:09)  
i was under the counter. don’t even ask why please thanks.**

* * *

“You have really nice hands.”

Akira looked up from his phone, only to see red eyes staring blankly at his hands, almost as if in a daze. Setting the device down onto the table, he waved one hand in front of Akechi’s face, to which the man promptly perked up, gaze locking with Akira’s.

“Wait, no— I didn’t mean that in a creepy way, I just—“ Akechi stammered, eye contact broken as he looked at anywhere _but_ Akira.

He didn’t know where he got the courage to do it, or why he even _did_, but Akira found himself grabbing onto one of Akechi’s hands and placing it atop his own, all until he lowered both of his palms flat on the table in front of the brunette.

“You can ‘study them’ if you want. I don’t mind you touching them.”

Akira thought it was a long shot the moment he proposed the idea, thought that the warmth of Akechi’s hand atop his would be the first _and_ last time he’d be able to feel it— but if Goro Akechi was anything since the first time he’d seen him, he was full of surprises.

Cautiously, almost as if he were scared to break Akira, Akechi slid his fingers underneath Akira’s palms and lifted them up. Akechi’s thumbs slid over the skin on the back of the barista’s hands, knew he felt all the bumps from his veins that’d swelled up with years of strenuous work.  
Akira felt his thumbs go over each of the knuckles on his fist, watched as he flipped over his hands to now examine his palms, held his hands up as Akechi traced over the lines and his fingers ghosted over the lengths of Akira’s own, down to the pads.

All the while, he tried to keep his heart in check, tried _desperately_ to calm himself down because he was already doing so well before he even asked Akechi to touch his hands.

But the way that Akechi’s red gaze seemed fixated over Akira’s hands, the way that he looked so _focused_ as he went over all the details and touched every inch of skin there— Akira was a weak man who could only watch Akechi’s nose scrunch up every so often, watch as his brows knitted together ever so slightly, enjoyed every quiet second that passed as he committed his expressions to mind as Akechi studied his hands.

“Your fingers are long and skinny, but I like how they’re not at all bony. Your veins pop out but they're nice to touch. Your skin is rough in some areas, too, but I wonder..”

And suddenly, with thumbs pressing down on the middle of Akira’s palms, Akechi paused and only held them there. Akira watched as he pressed the sides of his thumbs to his palms.

He could only chuckle as he slid his hands out of Akechi’s grasp to instead go over to his face, afterwards cupping both his cheeks.

“Wanted to know how warm my hands are?” Akira asked, a small smile playing on his lips— fond this time, with no slyness nor cockiness anywhere in sight.

Was the heat underneath his palms from himself or was it Akechi’s cheeks burning up again?

Akechi nodded, lips pursed into a line.

“Your palms are _really_ warm, y’know,” he murmured, his own hands coming to rest atop Akira’s, “I wonder, is it from working as a barista or just because you’re _Akira_?”

“I don’t know, Akechi.”

Their gazes held. Akira felt as if he couldn’t blink.

The lovely ruby shade of Akechi’s irises were _captivating_, in every sense of the word. They were pools that Akira felt as if he drowned in each time he looked into them, and especially so when they actually saw him, too.

_There’s a way of bonding between people that happens even with just looking into their eyes, or just being in the same room with them_, Morgana’s voice said, ringing from within his head.

Akira didn’t know how much time passed between them, with their gazes locked and with hands atop each other, but Akechi was the first to look back down onto the table and remove Akira’s hands from his cheeks. Akira, in turn, could only look to the side into the kitchen, hands withdrawing to his side of the table. He was sure both of them had reddened cheeks, but somehow, the air didn’t feel heavy with awkwardness, didn’t feel like there was something broken between them.

“Thanks,” Akechi spoke up, his voice barely above the volume of a whisper. When Akira looked back at him, he saw Akechi had already been gazing at him, a fond look in his eyes and a content smile on his lips.

Akira’s heart thumped, though he ignored it and nodded, returning the smile in kind.

“You’re welcome.”

They passed the afternoon together in Café Leblanc, naught but a silence that was both comfortable _and_ nostalgic in the atmosphere between them. Akechi had continued reading his book, and Akira could do nothing but watch every graceful motion he made— turning the pages, eyes moving across the words, sometimes chancing a glance to look up at Akira before hurriedly returning to the novel.

All the while, Akira knew from within his heart that, just by simply sitting together and soaking in each other’s presence in those quiet moments with the smell of coffee roaming the air, he only fell deeper and harder for Goro Akechi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DID SOMEONE ASK FOR AN EARLY UPDATE BC HERE YOU GO.
> 
> idk you guys this chapter seemed so e a s y to write this time idk if it's bc of the fluff or what but HERE IT IS :^D
> 
> hope y'all enjoy the development between these two uwu and also how to make pour-over coffee bc akira acted it all out for y'all step-by-step  
but pls remember to temp your water to 200 degrees F or 93 degrees C and make sure your beans are freshly roasted to either light or medium roast
> 
> listen list !! (songs that got me through this chapter)  
betty who - right here  
persona 5 ost - beneath the mask (all the versions y'all)  
b jyun - breeze  
ikon - love scenario


	8. Track 07

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spending time together, late at night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hNNNGGG S O MUCH T E X T I N G

**detective prince (sent 22:16)  
It’s getting quite late. You should sleep.**

**You (sent 22:16)  
no ;P can’t make me.**

**detective prince (sent 22:16)  
Well *I* want to sleep.**

**You (sent 22:17)  
awwww**

**You (sent 22:17)  
is your grace going to leave me alone now?**

**detective prince (sent 22:17)  
Am I really still “detective prince” in your contacts???**

**You (sent 22:17)  
YES, YOUR HIGHNESS. ;)**

**detective prince (sent 22:18)  
Joke’s on you because I’m getting used to you using winky emojis on me, so ha! Take that!**

**detective prince (sent 22:19)  
I know how you tease now, Akira. I’m immune!!**

**You (sent 22:21)  
the real question we should be asking right now is**

**You (sent 22:21)  
(You sent a photo.)**

**You (sent 22:21)  
are you immune to me winking at the camera? ;)**

* * *

Akira chuckled to himself as he leaned back into the bathroom wall, eyes on his phone and a smile high on his cheeks. Teasing Goro Akechi had to be the best part of his day, even more so when he _knew_ the brunette still got flustered via text.

He’d be _damned_ if the man wasn’t blushing at the (_mostly_) faux-bedroom eyes he pulled in the picture, as well as showing just a _little bit_ of his naked chest.

* * *

**You (sent 22:31)  
i’m taking that as a no. i win!**

**detective prince (sent 22:33)  
I hope you fall off your bed tonight.**

**You (sent 22:33)  
if i’m falling for you, gladly. ;)))**

* * *

“Akira! Are you still texting your boyfriend or what? You have to start blondie-ing your hair again or we’re never going to start the heist!”

“He’s not my boyfriend, Futaba!”

Akira spotted Futaba sticking her tongue out at him from the living room in response, to which he would stick his own tongue out as well, in kind.

They weren’t boyfriends, not at all— More along the lines of friends who’ve talked all day, every day since they’ve settled into a comfortable spot in their relationship. Akira was honestly glad that he could tease Akechi like this, just drop the most _obvious_ of hints in plain sight, when he was sure Akechi didn’t take it too seriously. 

It was Stealth 101, really.

Akechi really only knew Akira as a jokester when he wasn’t Joker, Akira was sure of that. He was the funny, flirty, confident egomaniac, and Akira would take that if it meant he could _flirt_ without really _flirting_.

* * *

**You (sent 22:35)  
guess whose little sister is telling me to get off my phone already.**

**detective prince (sent 22:36)  
Tell Futaba she’s doing a better job at being the older sibling than *you* are.**

**You (sent 22:36)  
why must you break my heart so, your highness? :(**

**You (sent 22:36)  
but i mean**

**You (sent 22:37)  
the sooner i go to sleep the sooner i’ll get to text you again, right?**

**You (sent 22:37)  
don’t tell me you haven’t been enjoying the good morning texts i so humbly put time and effort into writing for you**

**detective prince (sent 22:38)  
Akira, you wake up at noon.**

**You (sent 22:38)  
noon is early morning for creatures of the night such as myself**

**detective prince (sent 22:38)  
Pfft, okay then. One of these days I’ll see you wake up before 1 pm, I swear.**

**You (sent 22:39)  
i hope you realise you’d have to get into my apartment and hit me over the head REALLY hard to do that.**

**detective prince (sent 22:30)  
I might just do that one of these days. Don’t tempt me.**

**You (sent 22:30)  
the passcode is 010400**

**detective prince (sent 22:30)  
Your birthday? REALLY?**

**detective prince (sent 22:30)  
Do you WANT to get broken into?**

**You (sent 22:31)  
maybe i’ll let you do the breaking in after taking me out to dinner, detective ;)**

* * *

Akira’s grin was wide on his cheeks, was sure that he’d made Akechi blush even redder at that from the other side of the screen. Akechi could be a bit slow-witted sometimes when he dropped innuendos like that, though it seemed he was different this time.

Akira would only chuckle at the response he was sent.

* * *

**detective prince (sent 22:31)  
Try HARDER next time, Akira. Your sense of humour doesn’t have the same effect on me anymore.**

**You (sent 22:32)  
was “harder” intentional?**

**detective prince (sent 22:32)  
You tell me, you dirty criminal. ;)**

* * *

A gasp, and then furious typing with his widest smile yet.

* * *

**You (sent 22:33)  
AHA so the prim and proper detective prince CAN crack dirty jokes if he wants to!**

**You (sent 22:39)  
don’t leave me on read at a time like THIS!**

**detective prince (sent 22:42)  
I fell asleep you goof. Hahaha.**

**You (sent 22:43)  
one of these days i’m going to keep you up until 4 am, jesus christ.**

**detective prince (sent 22:43)  
Yeah, yeah. As much as I want to keep texting, what I want more than that right now is to get some sleep.**

**detective prince (sent 22:44)  
See you tomorrow?**

* * *

Wait, _what_.  
_Tomorrow_? They didn’t have any plans _tomorrow_. What was up _tomorrow_?!

* * *

**You (sent 22:44)  
wait are you going to leblanc again or the club**

**detective prince (sent 22:45)  
Shush. Sleep. Goodnight, Akira! :)**

* * *

_Damn. Blue-balled by Goro Akechi himself_.

“Are you _still_ texting him?” Futaba groaned.

When Akira looked to the door from his spot in the bathroom, he saw Futaba standing there with crossed arms, head shaking side to side.

“_Seriously_, you guys text too much! And that’s coming from the shut-in who used to message people all day.”

Akira held his hands up beside his head, phone abandoned on the bathroom counter. He had a sly little smile on his cheeks as he beamed at the woman.

“No phone! I’m starting to get ready, I promise!”

Futaba was raising an eyebrow up at him, an incredulous look painted on her features as she leaned against the doorframe. Akira, meanwhile, had begun slipping the stocking onto his neck. He pooled the fabric down around the base of his throat before plugging his straightening iron into an outlet stationed at the corner, beside the mirror.

“Geez, it’s been like, _five_ days since you guys hung out at Leblanc. How do you go from _awkward teenagers_ to texting everyday in _five days_?”

“It just _happened_.” Akira shrugged, a comb running through his hair as he waited for the iron to heat up. “I don’t know, I guess it just felt natural to text him a little after he left? And after I asked him if he got home safe, we just started talking about Mona. After we talked about Mona, we started talking about the book he was reading. And then that went to what we’re doing next time we’re free and then—“

“Alright, okay, I get it!” Futaba had a small smile on her lips as she looked down onto the tiles. “You really _do_ have a way of squirming into people’s hearts, huh?”

Akira dropped the comb onto the counter, nodding just _once_.

In all honesty, he was glad that he had that quality to himself— If not, Futaba would still be a shut-in, Yusuke would most likely have lost who he was to hatred and anger, and Haru would have been married off to a misogynistic asshole like a bargaining chip.  
Simply getting Futaba to trust him from across her bedroom door all those years ago was the pebble in the pond that led to them helping people— The thing that made ripples in the water, made a difference in who knows how many lives. 

It was ironic, though, for an invisible person to be the one who was so easy to trust.

“Well it was me squirming into _your_ heart that made me your _dear_ big brother,” he half-joked, straightening iron in hand.

As he began pulling the hot iron down a section of his hair, he saw Futaba nod from the corner of his eye.

“I’m grateful for that, y’know..” Futaba’s voice was genuine, but that didn’t last. Akira heard the smile in her tone when she continued, “You literally saved my life by being a _pain in my ass_. How many people can say they’ve done that by knocking on my door all day until I yelled at you?”

“You have dad to thank for even letting me stand inside your house to do that,” he laughed, a hand patting down his hair. The warmth radiating off of it felt nice against his palm.

It reminded him of his Friday afternoon in Leblanc, cupping Akechi’s cheeks.

“_Yeah_, well when we save those NE idols, I’ll be sure to get shitfaced in honour of Sojiro Sakura. You have to hurry up, okay? We don’t have all night.”

But they did.

When Futaba had gone back to her laptop sitting on the living room couch, Akira moved in double-time to get his hair all blonde and straight and _foreign_ again. By the time he began spraying it with his coloured hairspray, he’d only look down, staring straight into the screen of his phone.

He was waiting (for what, he was already painfully aware of) though he was sure Akechi was sound asleep. Akira had to wonder why he was even giving himself hope that the man would suddenly text him with an “_I can’t sleep_,” to which he would reply, cheekily of course, with “_Because you’re thinking of me_.”

Maybe it was because teasing Akechi was great? Because he loved imagining a pink flush creep up the brunette’s cheeks and to the tips of his ears at the messages Akira would send— Maybe it was that he could indirectly tell Akechi how he actually felt, could be transparent with his feelings while simultaneously not putting himself and his friendship with Akechi at risk at the hands of it just being a_ joke_.

Maybe it brought just a little bit of joy to talk to Akechi like they were in a _relationship_, with all their banter and fake-flirting and teasing. Maybe he just liked talking to Akechi in general— Which was actually true.

But so many _maybe_’s went through Akira’s head as he waited for his phone to light up with a message containing three little words sent late at night— A message that would really, most likely, never come.

It was near midnight when Akira had stepped out of his bathroom, hair fixed, suit on, and stocking pulled up over the lower half of his face. His hands fumbled with the tie around his neck as he sat down on his usual chair, gaze immediately on the screen displaying blueprints to them.

“Tatsuya Watanabe’s estate is surrounded by a twenty-foot high wall. All that’s really on it are security cameras— I’ve got those covered, but the safest possible spot to break in from is the north-eastern side. Usually only maids are around that area and guards pass by only _rarely_, but you guys still need to bust ass to get to the mansion.

“The files we’re looking for are most likely in the gigantic office located in the fourth floor, all the way out to the South wing of the place. Keep in mind that there’s a big window looking into the front yard, so be careful to stay in the shadows and out of sight. Morgana, did you bring the..?”

Morgana, seated opposite Akira, nodded, before he swung a black backpack onto his lap and rummaged his hands within. A spark of interest glinted in Akira’s eyes at the sight of the grappling hooks he’d pulled out, a smile stretching up his cheeks when he was handed one over the coffee table.

Akira weighed the object in his hands, eagerly inspecting the four hooks and the black frame. He’d gotten out of many sticky situations thanks to this baby, and he treated it like an old friend.

More than once, the very same grappling hook he held even got him out of the jaws of Death.

“Good, okay. Get in, get the files, get out. That’s all.”

Akira nodded at Futaba’s finalisation, afterwards shifting his gaze over to Morgana. Underneath his stocking, a grin raised up on his cheeks.

“Race you to the other side of the wall,” he challenged, his voice just _exuding_ confidence. The job was easy, they could have some fun. Morgana seemed to share the idea with just as (if not _more_) interest.

“You’re on, but don’t cry when you lose, Arsene.”

* * *

“_These big-name office people really do need better security management, I swear to God. I could hack into this shit in my **sleep**!_”

Akira chuckled, standing at the foot of a high, white wall beside Morgana. On a holster hooked onto his belt, he felt the weight of the grappling hook, felt the sharp claws poke lightly into his thigh through the fabric of his slacks. All they waited for in that moment was Futaba’s _go_ when the surveillance cameras were taken control of.

“_I disabled the camera near you guys. Head in._”

That had to be the bang of a starting pistol between him and his mentor.  
At once, Akira and Morgana both reached to grab hold of the handle of their devices, pointing the gun-like tool up to angle the hooks to the top of the wall before shooting almost simultaneously. After tugging on the lines, they began to scale the wall, Akira doing his best to both conserve his energy for the final stretch, and to move as quickly as he could when the slightly-taller Morgana had gone ahead of him.

“Cat burglar!” he taunted, pulling himself up at a faster pace. Morgana, for the most part, ignored him as he climbed up with the strange _feline grace_ he seemed to forever harbour.

Akira watched as Morgana stepped over the top of the wall and disappeared onto the other side by the time he was only 3/4 of the way up, and so decided to take desperate measures.  
His feet ran up the rest of the way on the wall as he pressed the retract trigger on the grappling hook. When he’d reached the top, he secured the hook back on the other edge and began taking wide hops down. As Akira reached Morgana, he would only smirk wide underneath his mask, unlatching the hook from the edge before jumping off the wall at ten feet up.

What was _ten feet_ to the great thief Arsene when he’d broken out through the window of a casino at _four stories up_ before?

Akira rolled onto the grass when he felt the balls of his feet touch the ground, dispersing the force of impact. As he came to a stop on one knee, he looked back up to Morgana, gaze _highly_ victorious.

His arms were stretched up, almost lazily, when his partner in crime had reached the bottom of the wall and had walked up to him.

“_Show off!_” Futaba chimed in, just as Morgana went to hit his head playfully.

Akira laughed.

With their guide’s directions, the two had reached the mansion of NE Entertainnment’s CEO without running into any of the staff on-duty. They sneaked in through an open window on the second floor after climbing up a tree (something Morgana was _exceptionally_ skilled at) and found themselves in a parlour, of sorts.

There were no cameras inside the mansion, and so Akira and Morgana relied on each other to watch out for silhouettes nearing, for footsteps that weren’t _theirs_ getting closer to their location as they began scouring through the floors. Futaba provided support by giving them a route, aside from hacking into the phones and devices of anyone who got _too_ close to them, to serve as a distraction as the two made a silent getaway.

Akira and Morgana had successfully made it to the fourth floor of the mansion with no obstacles, were quick to locate the office Futaba had told them about before Akira was on one knee, picking the lock of one of the big, double doors.

Once the faint _click_ of the last of the lock’s pins reached Akira’s ears, he pocketed his lockpick and pushed open the door, the both of them slipping in and closing it as quietly as they came in.

“_Okay, according to these blueprints, there’s a safe hidden in the wall on your left. See any paintings or whatever it can hide behind?_”

“Got it,” Morgana spoke up, already making his way to the large framed canvas sitting on the left wall of the room, right next to a row of bookshelves.

Akira had to squint his eyes a bit to adjust to the darkness of the room, and could only furrow his brows as he stared at the painting.

A woman in red, staring down into purple mist.

“Sayuri,” he supplied.

Akira helped Morgana unhook the painting and set it down on the floor beside them, away from the large windows to their right where lights would sometimes flash from. As Morgana pressed his ear against the metal of a safe door, fingers twisting the knob this way and that as he worked on getting it open, Akira could only stare down at the painting— could only think back to when he was nineteen and saw dark blue irises staring back at his mask in fear, in the dark of a shack-like domain.

He remembered, then, feeling a bit of regret as he stood in front of Yusuke Kitagawa as Arsene, after having lied to him as Akira for the sole purpose of sneaking a look around his home, before the infiltration. Akira had ran out of the room filled with replica Sayuri’s that night, right past the tall, lanky art student, with not a word exchanged between them.

But he’d saved Yusuke, had lied to him for a good purpose. His old mentor, the phony artist Madarame, was behind bars and serving his time. Akira didn’t have to regret that, not at _all_.

But still, a large, fake Sayuri hanging in the study of a big-name CEO? Did Madarame really have _that_ many connections when he was still doing his scams?

It was a bit strange, but Akira figured that, in the world of art, you really _do_ meet all kinds of people.

Akira heard the door of the safe swing open, and would look back up to Morgana. The man was already rifling through the contents within a folder, so Akira made to step closer to him and produce a small flashlight from within his jacket.

When the small beam of light shone over the papers in Morgana’s hands, Akira knew they’d hit the jackpot.

There were stacks upon stacks of profiles, names, pictures, occupations, addresses, _everything_ of different grown men and women, with a list of ‘_preferences_’ and ‘_favourites_’ written under each of them.  
Going through the documents, Akira would recognise some as businesspeople, some as older celebrities, some even as _foreign_ public figures. With his eyes skimming over the ‘_preferences_’ column, he read over different combinations of hair colour, eye colour, body type, height, weight, even _scars_; When he went over the ‘_favourites_’ column, all he saw were names of different idols, _all_ under New Era Entertainment.

“Disgusting_ motherfuckers_..” Akira mumbled, setting all the papers he held back into a stack. He’d seen enough. “Let’s get all of them and leave. I can’t wait to get this to the media.”

Futaba spoke into their earpieces.

“_Did you guys find the files?_”

Morgana responded for the two of them, “We did. Coming back to base after cleaning up here.”

* * *

Akira set the folder full of papers down onto the coffee table along with his mask, right before tugging down the stocking on his face and heading straight into his kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of vodka from the fridge and left his gloves on the kitchen counter.

“I can’t. I need this right now, please don’t stop me. These documents are too repulsive and I need to take my mind off them,” he pleaded when Futaba had simply stared at him from the couch, vodka and a shot glass in his hands.

Akira wasted no time filling the glass and tipping the rim back on his lips. The burn scorched his throat, the taste disagreed _heavily_ with his tastebuds, and he hung his head over the back of the chair with the glass in his hand, lips parted as he closed his eyes.

_Are the idols just fucking **sex dolls** to them?_

Akira needed another shot when his mind’s eye showed him the names and the faces of the disgusting _paedophiles_ on the files.

Actually, Akira needed to get shitfaced drunk— or _high_. He didn’t care really. All he knew was that he needed to not be sober.

“I mean I’m not stopping you, but couldn’t you have at least asked if I wanted to get drunk, too?”

“I got it, don’t worry, Futaba.”

Akira lifted his head back up to see Morgana with two more shot glasses. He handed one to the redheaded woman on the sofa, filling their glasses immediately after.

Akira picked up the bottle when Morgana had set it down and filled his own. As he sat forward now, arms on his thighs, spinning the alcohol along the glass’ rim, he looked down onto his shoes.

His free hand went over his eyes as he groaned.

“Why do people like that exist in this world?”—Akira downed his shot—“Why are there so _many_ disgusting shits that are alive?”

“Is this about the..?” he heard Futaba ask.

“This is most likely about _that_, yes.” Morgana nodded.

They already knew.

Akira was sixteen when he moved to Tokyo, forced out of his own home after being falsely accused of not one, but _two_ charges: One was physical assault, the other was _sexual assault_.

It was as normal of a night as ever. Akira wanted to go out to the convenience store to buy two litres of soda (Code Red: Mountain Dew for those gaming nights) to last him the entire MMORPG session with the online buddy he made (‘_User_D3jD3m_’) that he had planned— when he saw a drunk, bald man dragging Miss Saito (the local grocery store lady) into a car.

He wasn’t an idiot. There were _obvious_ signs of struggle, if it weren’t already apparent enough that it _wasn’t_ consensual from Miss Saito repeatedly telling the man “_Get off me!_” and “_Stop!_”

So Akira did the first thing that came to mind— He first stood between the two, shielding Miss Saito with his body before the man had grabbed at his shoulder. Akira had managed to sidestep the weak punch the drunk man was about to send to his face, which ended with the man fumbling forwards and hitting his head on the pavement.

When the cops had arrived, the drunken man had scared Miss Saito into reporting _Akira Kurusu_, instead. The last he saw of them was when the drunken man had gotten into his car, Miss Saito in tow by the arm and looking more _frightened_ than he had ever seen any other person.

He could only wallow in regret imagining what the man had done to her that night.

Akira had a _deep_, passionate hatred for men like that, for _people_ in general that would abuse their strength for selfish reasons. Flat out, he would say that he hated rapists and sexual-harassers; Given time, he would have a three-hour long TED Talk about why the selfish should not have power, examples and _everything._

Both Futaba _and_ Morgana had sat through that discussion more than once already, which is why they only let Akira get drunk this time.

When Akira had taken another shot, he set his glass down on the table and promptly stood up. With steady steps (he wasn’t even feeling _tipsy_ yet) he went into the bathroom to wash off the hairspray from his head.

Just as he’d closed the door, though, he spotted his phone on the counter, still abandoned after he’d left it there before the mission.

Akira took the phone, pressed down on the power button, and simply _stared_ at his screen.

* * *

**1 new message (01:21)  
detective prince: I can’t sleep**

* * *

Goro stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, face wet with the water he’d splashed onto it just seconds earlier. Though his legs still felt a _bit_ wobbly, he’d been standing there for a solid ten minutes, hands gripping the edges of the sink, red eyes glaring back into his own.

He had to calm down. It was normal, right? It was _completely_ fine. Akira was hot, that was the _pure_, unadulterated _truth_.

So he really should stop feeling bad about jacking off to the topless picture of Akira Kurusu winking, along with the thoughts of his _more_ than suggestive texts.

“_Fuck_..”

The curse left his lips as he’d hung his head down, eyes shutting under furrowed brows, his grip on the porcelain tightening so much that he was _sure_ the colour of his knuckles blended into the sink.

_Calm down, Goro. Akira is **hot**. It’s normal to be aroused because someone is hot. Stop being a fucking **teenager **about this_.

Yeah, that was easier said than done.

By the time Goro had wandered back out to the dark hallway of the apartment and into his bedroom, he’d splashed _more_ water on his face and he was half-stumbling. Falling face-first onto his bed, he turned his head to the side, gazing down on his phone, his feet hanging off the edge of his mattress. It was almost painful how hard he bit down on his bottom lip.

Goro really shouldn’t have sent that text. Akira must’ve thought that he had no other friends to message, or that he was being _too_ obvious and/or desperate about his stupid crush. Who sends “_I can’t sleep_” out of the blue when he himself was the one who told Akira to get to bed?

His eyes closed. He should at least _try_ to sleep now. Maybe the voice in the forefront of his brain yelling “_You’re so stupid!_” and “_WHY?_” would calm down come morning— or afternoon, considering the time he was still awake.

But then his phone buzzed.

Goro was quick to snap his eyes open and lift his head, looking down onto the lit-up screen of his phone. None but a single message sat under a big ’_02:41_.’

He’d gotten a reply from Akira.

Snatching his phone off the mattress, Goro made to move back up to the pillows and lay on his side. His eyes focused on none other than the words on the screen as he’d unlocked the device.

Was he still awake? Was this _real_— He wasn’t actually asleep and dreaming now, _right_?

* * *

**coffee king (sent 02:41)  
that’s because you’re thinking of me. ;)**

* * *

Goro had to suck in a breath.

_Oh_, if Akira only knew how _right_ he was.

If only Akira knew what his messages did to Goro’s emotional well-being, knew how every little fake flirt and tease made Goro’s heart start racing, how even just receiving a single message from the man made Goro’s day get just a little bit better than it already was.

Messaging each other like this, having conversations that lasted for hours on end— It made Goro feel like he was _wanted_ and he loved that, even if it was only as a friend and not more.

Akira should have known how just simply giving his _attention_ made Goro’s heartstrings tug just a bit more insistently, tug just a bit _farther_ than he usually let it. On one hand, he was fine with that—_wanted_ it, even— But on the other, now that the dust had settled and he saw Akira on his level, on equal footing, insecurity had begun creeping up on the back of Goro’s neck again.

Maybe Ann was right, maybe they _should_ be warier of Akira Kurusu— Maybe he shouldn’t be so quick to trust the man at full capacity, be so _willing_ let the man explore his heart.  
But the cute little messages, the _insistence_, the flirts and the innuendos and his words.. It was hard for Goro not to like that, not to like _Akira_.

Goro read over the words again and again, thumbs hovering above the keyboard. Was it because he was tired, or because he typed the words out without even thinking about the complications?

* * *

**You (sent 02:51)  
Maybe you’re right**

* * *

A response was sent almost _immediately_— or was it sent at the same time as Goro’s message?

* * *

**coffee king (sent 02:51)**  
**it’s cute how you read my message and take your time to think about what to say next**  
**cutie ;))**

**coffee king (sent 02:51)  
oh my god okay wait no i think im getting tipsy dont take that too seriously**

**coffee king (sent 02:52)  
unless you want to of course ;))))**

* * *

Akira.. was drinking? At _this_ time of night?

Goro guessed the man’s nocturnal nature had to do with it, but why was he drinking and _where_?

_Some bars stay open until four am, idiot_. _Akira is a grown-ass man, let him have his rights._ _You’re not his **boyfriend** to worry about him like this_.

But friends were allowed to worry like that.. right?

* * *

**You (sent 02:53)  
Even tipsy, I see you’re still as flirtatious as ever.**

**coffee king (sent 02:53)  
baby im only flirty with youu <3**

**coffee king (sent 02:53)  
know why?**

**coffee king (sent 02:53)  
because im drunk off LOVE <3 <3 <3**

* * *

Goro had to take a moment to _breathe_.

_Damn you, Akira. I never said you could make me feel like this with **texts**._

There was an undeniable blush on his face again, and he didn’t even have to check to _know_ it was there. Akira had that kind of effect on him, no matter the medium they spoke on.

* * *

**You (sent 02:54)  
Excuse me, am I talking to Akira Kurusu right now or Joker because I genuinely can’t tell anymore.**

**coffee king (sent 02:55)  
i can be whoever you want me to be ;)**

**You (sent 02:55)  
Yeah? Right now I want you to be the guy who’s enjoying drinks with your friends and not wasting the moment texting me.**

* * *

_Good going, Goro **fucking** Akechi. Because **that** didn’t sound at all jealous. No, not at **all**._

Goro had to agree with the voice in his brain.

_I’m an idiot_.

* * *

**coffee king (sent 02:57)  
howd yiu know im not drinking by myself tho??**

**coffee king (sent 02:59)  
if youre saying that youre stalking me rn and that youre outside id gladly let you into my apartment so we could get drunk t0gether <3**

* * *

Goro was crushing, but he wouldn’t go _that_ far. Still, he couldn’t help the quiet laugh Akira had earned out of him. The thought of drinking together was _nice_, but..

* * *

**You (sent 02:59)  
You don’t really seem like the type to drink by yourself on your day off to be honest.**

**You (sent 02:59)  
Also I don’t think you’d want to be with me when I’m drunk.**

**coffee king (sent 03:01)  
psshhhhh PLEASE i already know what youre like when youre drunk and i LOVE IT**

* * *

_Oh shit._

Goro knew _exactly_ what he was talking about— _That_ was the worst part. His horror would only increase as he watched the ‘_typing_’ icon pop up, on edge as he waited for the messages to come up.

* * *

**coffee king (sent 03:03)  
idk how many times youve been drubk in my club but i saw yiu drunk like two times already**

**coffee king (sent 03:05)  
i mean i already know youre sexy as fuck but when you dance WHILE drunk youre REALLY FUcking hot i hope you know that**

* * *

_Breathe. Fucking **breathe**, Goro. He’s just joking. And possibly already drunk. He probably doesn’t know what he’s saying right now. Don’t give yourself hope, goddammit._

Akira’s texts, though, really only confirmed that Goro had embarrassed himself to the _max_ when he initiated a dance battle back then, but when was the _second_ time? The pool of possibilities was too big for Goro to narrow it down, but the embarrassment level was the same either way.

* * *

**You (sent 03:07)  
I appreciate the compliment but I’m actually a real crybaby when I’m drunk.**

**You (sent 03:07)  
The annoying kind of crybaby that whines a lot and overshares.**

**coffee king (sent 03:08)  
you know im a goood listener tho**

**coffee king (sent 03:09)  
hit me**

**coffee king (sent 03:10)  
like what does drunk akechi talk about becsuse whatrever it is im prettu sure i can handle it**

**You (sent 03:10)  
What do you think I talk about?**

**coffee king (sent 03:10)  
your crushes**

* * *

Was—  
Was Akira somehow _psychic_ or something? That was _too_ spot on. Did he talk to Ann about this? Did Ann _tell_ him anything?  
But he _knew_ Ann wouldn’t give too much information to someone she didn’t trust, _especially_ when it was people Goro had fallen in (puppy) love with. Goro’s crushes pretty much made up the entirety of “The list of people Ann Takamaki is cautious about.”

* * *

**coffee king (sent 03:13)  
so am i right?**

**You (sent 03:13)  
No comment**

**coffee king (sent 03:15)  
you never talk about people you like so it’s kinda obvious**

**You (sent 03:16)  
You never do either!**

**coffee king (sent 03:16)  
i wonder which detective princw told me “Deflection pretty much confirms it” ???**

* * *

Shit.

Okay, Akira Kurusu got him there.

Which was _extremely_ bad.

Goro needed to back things up to somewhere that wasn’t getting too close to “I have this really bad crush on a DJ whose club I frequent.”

* * *

**You (sent 03:18)  
So you know multiple detective princes?**

**coffee king (sent 03:19)  
ah ah ah. youre not changing the topic that easily**

**coffee king (sent 03:23)  
do you regret telling me so much about how you did detective stuff now? what can i say im a quick learner**

* * *

Goro had to actually stop and think before he _dared_ type again. Akira was a witty smartass even if he wasn’t sober (Goro was _sure_ the man was smirking on the other end of the screen) so he had to think of a way to get around this.

He rolled over to lay on his other side. Before he could even get halfway into predicting the outcomes of his choice of words, another message popped up.

* * *

**coffee king (sent 03:24)  
come on, you already know i have a gigantic crush on someone**

**coffee king (sent 03:26)  
so how about we make it even? do you like anyone right now?**

* * *

_Don’t admit it._

* * *

**You (sent 03:28)  
Yes.**

* * *

_Bury me_.

* * *

**coffee king (sent 03:31)  
see?? was that s0 hard to admit??**

**You (sent 03:32)  
YES.**

**coffee king (sent 03:34)  
cute little akechi has a CRUUUSH <3 <3**

**You (sent 03:34)  
Well you do, too!**

**coffee king (sent 03:36)  
i mean yeah but hes never going to like me back anyway**

* * *

Was that another typo or did Akira really mean ‘_he_’? Goro (sleep-deprived, incredibly tired and bodily-sore Goro) wanted to poke at the topic, though he half-knew, half-didn’t care about the risks.

Like Akira poking back at the topic of _his_ crush, for example.

* * *

**You (sent 03:37)  
He?**

* * *

Goro watched the little typing bubble pop up and out on Akira’s side of the chat log— _multiple_ times. Five whole minutes had passed before his message came in.

There was a hesitation there and even a half-awake Goro couldn’t miss it.

* * *

**coffee king (sent 03:42)  
lets play my favourite game rn**

**coffee king (sent 03:44)  
give hints to what our crushes aer like until we fidn out who they arw**

**coffee king (sent 03:46)  
rules are SIMPLE.**

**coffee king (sent 03:47)  
gimme a trait or smthj about the perso n you like and ill do the same**

**coffee king (sent 03:51)  
ill start. hes a guy. nd i like him al o t**

* * *

Was Goro really going to do this? Was he _really_ going to play this game Akira told him? The answer was leaning towards _yes_.

Was he going to give himself away eventually? _Yes_. Was he still going to do it anyway because he was stupid and Akira admitting that he’s at least bisexual gave Goro more hope than he should have gotten? _Fuck yes_.

Goro yawned as he typed.

* * *

**You (sent 03:53)  
The person I like is a guy too.**

* * *

The reply came almost _instantly_, as if Akira was simply waiting for Goro to reply before hitting send on a pre-typed text.

* * *

**coffee king (sent 03:53)  
he’s a cat person**

**You (sent 03:56)  
He takes care of a cat.**

**coffee king (sent 03:57)  
he’s a nerd**

* * *

Goro’s heart dropped a bit at that. _He_ wasn’t a nerd.

_So much for that tiny bit of hope_, he supposed.

* * *

**You (sent 03:59)  
He likes music**

**coffee king (sent 03:59)  
everyone likes music**

**You (sent 03:59)  
Touché.**

* * *

Goro looked up at the clock on the corner of his screen then, thumbs quick to type out his message at the realisation.

* * *

**You (sent 04:00)  
Congratulations, you actually kept me up until 4 am.**

**You (sent 04:01)  
Still drinking?**

**coffee king (sent 04:02)  
nah we stopped like hal f an hour ago**

**coffee king (sent 04:03)  
am tipsy**

**coffee king (sent 04:03)  
in bed**

**coffee king (sent 04:03)  
you?**

**You (sent 04:04)  
Well all I’m really up to right now (at FOUR AM) is talking to you**

**coffee king (sent 04:04)  
im flattered <3**

**coffee king (sent 04:05)  
i just thought of another one**

**coffee king (sent 04:05)  
he’s really snarky and passive aggressive, just like you**

**You (sent 04:05)  
I’m not passive aggressive.**

**You (sent 04:05)  
Not snarky either.**

* * *

Goro felt the need to complete his statement with a (playful) curse, but deleted the short message quickly after he’d typed it out. He didn’t need to accidentally offend Akira, though he knew the man didn’t care for cursing at all.

* * *

**coffee king (sent 04:06)  
i feel like you were about to send me a “fuck you” there**

**coffee king (sent 04:06)  
because if so**

**coffee king (sent 04:07)  
come here and fuck me yourself you coward ;)**

**coffee king (sent 04:07)  
(coffee king sent a photo.)**

* * *

“Akira, you can’t do this to me,” Goro blurted, eyes scanning every _bit_ of the photo that’d popped up on their chat log. All remnants of drowsiness left him the _second_ he’d seen it.

The picture Akira had sent him was dimly-lit, though Goro could clearly see teeth shining, a tongue stuck out between parted lips set in a smirk. Only the lower half of Akira’s face was seen, but what he subtracted from the photo, he made up for with a _very_ nice downward view of a bare chest, all the way down to his stomach— a midriff lined with hard muscle, with lines _clearly_ defining strong abs. Akira, in the photo, raised his middle finger with his left hand, and Goro could only bite down on his bottom lip seeing how big Akira’s biceps actually _were_.

Without a shirt, Akira wasn’t just a _snack_— he was an entire goddamn three-course _meal_.

The _worst_ (while simultaneously being the _best_) part about it was that the man _knew_ he was hot and _flaunted_ it. Akira knew he was one _fine_ piece of eyecandy, and that both miffed _and_ pleased Goro, somehow.

There really wasn’t any thought put into it when Goro pressed down on the call button in their chat, and he would only internally _yell at himself_ in immediate regret when Akira picked up after one ring.

“_Enjoyed the picture?_” Akira began, his tone flirty— Goro just _barely_ managed to stop himself from audibly shuddering at how _deep_ and _raspy_ Akira’s voice over the phone was.

“You can’t just _do_ that! I was— _goddammit_, Akira! ”

Akira would only laugh, Goro closing his eyes tight when he did.

_Infuriating_. A total flirt. A goddamn _egomaniac_— That was what Akira Kurusu was to Goro in that moment.

“_You were just **what**?_”

“I was just _falling asleep_, you asshat!”

More laughing. Goro wanted to punch Akira, if he only he were there.

But it was _much_ better for Goro’s well-being that Akira wasn’t with him in that moment, in his bed at four in the morning, whilst but half-naked (as far as _he_ knew, anyway.) Yes, Goro found that he was much more okay with being physically alone than having to be near Akira right now.

“_Why didn’t you just stop replying to me then? You know that was an option, right?_” Akira teased.

Goro took a deep breath through his nose, though instead of words, he would only let out a prolonged half-grunt, half-scream—As quiet as he could, of course, because Ann’s bedroom was right in front of his. 

No words could describe what he was feeling, exactly— It was like a cocktail of frustration (_possibly_ sexual,) the _tiniest_ hint of gratification, and a _lot_ of confusion, because what the _Hell_ was Goro doing, calling Akira? What did he _expect_ to happen? What was he supposed to _say_, even?

In the end, he settled for a, “Fuck you so much right now.”

But, just because Goro hadn’t learnt his lesson in Akira 101 yet, Akira had shot back a witty, dumb, fully-_confident_ retort.

“_When? Right now? Phone sex is hot._”

“I’m hanging up.”

“**_Okay_**_! Okay, I’ll stop, haha._ _I’m not ‘Down To Fuck Drunk Akira’ right now, don’t worry._ _Just_ **_tipsy_**_ like I said._” 

Goro would only reply with a grumble as he pulled his covers up over his head. With a reddened face and his phone against his ear, he curled up into a ball above the mattress, deciding that he _hated_ Akira Kurusu.

But just for a bit.

“_To be honest, I only wanted to know how you **actually** react to me flirting with you. Y’know that you’re a **lot** more calm in messages compared to the real thing? **Crazy**._” Akira chuckled.

“Is your entire”—a yawn—“life’s purpose to mess with me?”

“**_Yes_**_._” The reply came quickly. Goro raised one brow, though he knew Akira wouldn’t have been able to see it.

“You’re making me regret getting to know you,” he said flatly, though he already knew Akira read the sarcasm in his voice.

“_I’m **so** glad I met you, too, Akechi!_”

Goro yawned again, louder this time. Tears built up on the corners of his eyes though he made no move to wipe them away. The next few waves of constant yawning would just make it all for naught, anyway.

“_Be glad I **specifically** chose tonight to keep you up, by the way. No classes tomorrow, right?_”

He’d only reply with a hum to confirm, eyes closed.

“_No plans for the morning? I’m guessing you aren’t going to go cycling like you always do._”

“I have you to blame for that,” Goro replied, voice calmer now, _quieter_— though that could’ve been the tug of slumber pulling him down.

“_You haven’t given me your answer yet, by the way_.”

To this, Goro peered open one eye, almost as if looking to the edges of his phone in the corner of his eye was the equivalent of staring at Akira to urge him on.

“To what?”

Goro heard the smile in Akira’s voice when he’d said, “_To ‘The guy I like is really passive aggressive and snarky like you._’”

Oh, he’d forgotten about that. Goro would only hum to himself in thought, thinking of things that weren’t directly ‘_Akira Kurusu_.’

“He’s got glasses,” he finally said, after three minutes of going through a list— The list, he’d realised, were things he associated the man with.

“_Glasses? Alright, then.._” Akira hummed as well, and Goro could only imagine that the man had also laid back onto his own bed by the sound of faint rustling. “_He’s into music_.”

“_Everyone_ likes music,” Goro echoed.

“_That was for revenge because that one doesn’t count. Too general_. _Your turn_.”

Another, _longer_ yawn, before, “He’s shorter than me.”

“_What a coincidence, because I was just about to say that he’s **taller** than me and I hate it_.” How was it that Akira still sounded _fully_ awake?

_He works at night. Of course he’s used to staying up late_, his brain supplied.

“You can’t change _genes_, Akira,” Goro laughed, though tiredly. “He knows how to cook.”

“_Ever tasted his cooking before?_”

“Mhm.. His cooking is _amazing.._”

It was really the final thought that Goro had in mind before he’d gone quiet _completely_, lost to the embrace of sleep, phone in hand and lips parted. Slumber had won him over for the night (technically, morning) and Goro was weak to rest after working all day and staying up so late.

He was glad that he had the chance to talk more with Akira, glad to have called him.

What he wouldn’t hear though, was that after a few minutes of his radio silence, Akira would end the call after, with the fondest of tones, saying,

“_He just fell asleep_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY ! COINCIDENTALLY I FINISHED WRITING THIS AT 5 AM, WHICH IS AROUND THE TIME GORO FALLS ASLEEP IN THIS CHAPTER LMAO  
am v tired right now (and i think this is still kinda sucky and unnecessarily long bc of the text segments) BUT I DID IT  
CHAPTER 7. shuake has learned the power of calling, so there'll most likely be less text segments so dw y'all bc sucky, unnecessarily long chapters like this will be scarce from now on :'^))
> 
> hit a bit of a writer's block there for a while because of (surprise, surprise) long-repressed emotional issues, but now that i've kinda ?? a c c e p t e d them ? i got the kick back into writing more m&m, so yay for that !
> 
> in the days i've (honestly) procrastinated on writing this, though, i got out not o n e, not t w o, but THREE WHOLE ONE-SHOTS. One's smut, one's fluff, and one's angst. it's been an emotional rollercoaster but im g u c c i now
> 
> thanks for reading and thanks for the kudos, everyone ! 
> 
> listen list !! (songs that got me through this chapter)  
bts - fake love  
bts - blood, sweat and tears  
b jyun - breeze  
betty who - right here  
persona 5 ost - wake up, get up, get out there  
persona 5 ost - whims of fate  
persona 5 ost - beneath the mask  
persona 5 ost - hoshi to bokura to  
eden - say something  
eden - interlude  
eden - gravity


	9. Track 08

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> at the metaverse, for the hell of it.

“Mona.”

“Futaba, I’m not the only person in Tokyo who takes care of a cat.”

“You like music.”

“_Everyone_ likes music!”

“You have glasses.”

“Akechi probably knows _loads_ of people who wear glasses.”

“_You’re_ shorter than him!”

“_Yeah_, well it’s because he’s _tall_!”

It was the Thursday noon after their little late-night drinking session, and Akira and Futaba were sat across each other at the dinner table in Akira’s apartment. Morgana, as always, had disappeared before either of them had awoken.

A cup of coffee sat in front of Akira, while a bowl of cereal was on Futaba’s side.  
Futaba held his phone in one hand after seizing it from him the moment he’d awoken, her legs up on the wooden chair she sat on. As Akira made their choice breakfasts, she’d merely read through the entire conversation he had with Akechi hours earlier, quiet as she scrolled down his phone. Akira stopped caring about Futaba reading through his messages _long_ ago, so he really only let the woman do as she pleased.

It was only when Akira had set her cereal down in front of her on the table did she look up at him, a certainty and a finality in her gaze that matched the tone of her voice.

“He’s definitely talking about you,” she stated, and Akira could only chuckle with his cup in hand.

After telling her that it was _impossible_, was when she’d begun firing off Akechi’s given hints at him— which is where they sat now, conversation-wise. Akira was doing his best reasoning it out to her, trying to tell his sister that _no_, it most definitely wasn’t Akira Kurusu that Akechi was alluding to last night.

But Futaba was the most stubborn person Akira has ever met, _especially_ when she was certain she was right about something.

With each point she’d made, Futaba would stare _hard_ at Akira, almost as if challenging him (which she actually was) before letting her eyes fall back down to the screen in order to read the following hints.

“Akira, has Goro Akechi ever eaten curry that _you’ve_ made before?”

Akira would only nod simply, lips around the rim of his mug. He’d taken a sip of coffee before speaking again.

“Yeah, the first time he and Ann came there. We ran out of dad’s curry so I had to make a new batch.”

“_Akira_,” Futaba groaned, eyes closing. Akira watched her take a deep breath in, knew already where this was going. He was only glad that it was the last hint, so Futaba could leave him alone and go back to sleep or something.

It was almost scary (while, in the same breath, _impressive_) how Futaba’s determination rose above her hangover.

“Yeah?”

“You know how to cook.”

Akira set his cup down on the table, sighing.

“So do a _lot_ of other guys, Futaba.”

Akira would only watch, stare blank, as Futaba raised her face to the ceiling— and simultaneously groaned _while_ yelling in frustration.

“Why are you such an _idiot_ when it comes to shit like this?”

Akira took another sip of his coffee, eyes closing as he enjoyed the flavour tickling his tastebuds.

“Says the woman who still can’t tell Yusuke about her crush. It’s at two years and counting, in case you’ve forgotten.”

He took Futaba’s glare in stride.

“I’m _getting_ there!” she huffed, arms crossed now after she’d tossed Akira’s phone onto the table. “But don’t change the topic! Goro Akechi is, with _no_ margin of error, talking about you in your ‘_game_.’ The boy has your albums in his phone and he’s apparently been a huge fan since he found The Metaverse! I checked and he’s literally got _all_ your social media as Joker followed.”

“So he’s a _fan_, so what?” Akira argued, tone spelling his indifference.

“I looked for his face in all the security tapes at The Metaverse. He comes in at least once a week and he always sits at the same spot.”

Futaba shoved a spoonful of milk and cereal into her mouth, only chewing and swallowing hurriedly before she continued.

“You wanna know what he _always_ does whenever he’s at the club? He’s always either _staring at you_ with the _dreamiest_ fucking look in his eyes, or he’s dancing like he’s trying to seduce someone _right_ in front of you!”

A spoon was pointed accusingly at Akira then, and he would only continue finishing off his coffee, unbothered.

“Don’t even _try_ to tell me you’re not staring at him whenever he dances, Akira. I caught that slip last time Goro Akechi was in The Metaverse. You were pretty much setting yourself up when you played _that_ song, right after our drunk boy started _hitting it_.”

Akira looked at the remnants of his coffee, brows pointed down just _slightly_ as he stared at the last dregs. He laced his fingers together after he’d set it down for the final time, lips pursed into a line.

He loved Futaba more than she’d ever know, but sometimes the constant prodding and poking at his psyche and his affairs got to him— Not because Futaba was being invasive (God knows that he would’ve been in _deep_ shit if she wasn’t) but because admitting the truth to oneself was harder than it sounded on paper.

But he was _sure_ (more than _anything_) that Goro Akechi merely saw Akira Kurusu as a friend, nothing more, and nothing less.

“I still think he likes someone else.” Akira cut her off with a stare when Futaba opened her mouth “And _if_, hypothetically, he _was_ hinting at it being me, I’m sure that he likes _Joker_, not _Akira_.”

There was a silence in the air after he’d finished, and it almost felt like he was breathing in smoke at the pressure in the atmosphere that the turn in their conversation brought. Futaba would only stare back at him, the _tiniest_ hint of hesitation in her before-certain brown irises.

She knew that he was right, or at least considered Joker now as a factor in the equation.

“You’re being stupid again,” she said finally.

_I know_.

* * *

When Sojiro had asked Akira why he _possibly_ wanted to work at Café Leblanc on his day off, Akira only told him that Sojiro should have some time to kick back and relax more— Even despite Akira basically running Leblanc by himself on most days, for the past few years.

Akira insisted, and eventually, the man had caved and simply _let _him though on the condition that Sojiro would at least stay in the café.

Weekdays were slow. Only the regulars would come in at the times Akira had pretty much arranged in a little schedule in his head, knowing _who_ would arrive _when_, and eventually leave after spending _this_ amount of time in the café. He handled most with ease, served the rare newcomer even better, and performed his duties as Café Leblanc’s barista like it was second-nature to him— because it _was_.

Though as the afternoon continued, the hours passing almost _too_ quickly for Akira’s taste, he would wait. Standing behind the bar, he’d find himself glancing at the entrance more than once, even as he conversed with customers.

Akira would check his phone now and again, would find himself scrolling up and down his conversation with Akechi the night prior. His mind would fixate on _one_ message alone.

**See you tomorrow?**

It was almost like Akechi had sent that with a certainty that they _would_, in fact, be seeing each other that day— and with no other information other than an expected visit from Goro Akechi, Akira would anticipate brown hair coming through the door, would pick at his fingernails awaiting red eyes greeting him at _some_ point of the day.

Akira stayed in Café Leblanc for longer than he usually would, and by the time pre-opening prep for The Metaverse came, he’d excused himself and boarded the next train going to Shinjuku.

* * *

**You (sent 20:19)  
hey i might be late to prep**

**You (sent 20:19)  
i had to hang back in leblanc today but i’m on my way right now**

**You (sent 20:21)  
you know where the keys are, right? i’ll be down real quick but i gotta leave some of the prep to you and Yusuke for a few**

**You (sent 20:22)  
i owe you guys, sorry**

* * *

When Akira had arrived back to his club, he could only swallow down his guilt seeing the lights switched on within. He made quick work to change into an outfit fit for a night of DJ-ing before running down the stairs with his equipment in his hands.

* * *

Goro Akechi made a name for himself as the more _responsible_ adult of them, so the shocked expression painted on Ann and Shiho’s features came as no surprise when he suddenly spoke up in the midst of their crepe-eating.

“You.. wanna go _clubbing_?” repeated Ann, almost as if to make sure she’d heard him right through the French butter/maple syrup crepe Goro’s teeth sunk into.

Goro would only nod, a brief glance falling on the bags of clothes sitting beside him on the bench.

Awakening at 11AM that morning, Goro did naught but read through his conversation with Akira the night prior, now through a more-awake pair of eyes and a less-hazy brain. Though the initial flush in his cheeks, a feeling had awoken within the dancer, one that he was _acutely_ familiar with— It was akin to a part of the feelings he got whenever he’d gotten intoxicated, a competitiveness Goro _knew_ would most likely be his downfall one day.

Akira probably didn’t mean it (in his state the night before) but there was a side of Goro that couldn’t take the tease, the part of him that couldn’t simply just _let it go_ this time. The picture showcasing his rippling abs were only part of it, but what really got to the dancer was the text _before_ that— “**come here and fuck me yourself you coward ;)**”

Goro, in his bed that morning, could almost _hear_ Akira’s voice saying his text, could only furrow his brows at the memory of the man plainly _challenging_ him at Gun About.

And that _miffed_ Goro, for some reason.

It was clearly a simple joke from Akira once more, but Goro Akechi was a highly competitive man who couldn’t just let the instance slip without at _least_ firing back with something just as (if not _more_) severe— Which is why Goro had insisted he and Ann (who then invited Shiho) should go clothes shopping after they’d eaten brunch together. _For dancing_, he’d reasoned.

Ann must’ve known there was something up with Goro, though— For one, he was rarely one to initiate a shopping session; Another, because there was a certain _shine_ in Goro’s red eyes that she, an expert in all things Goro Akechi, couldn’t miss.

That shine had lit up as brightly as ever when Ann had spotted Goro in a shop earlier, holding up a red mesh tank top— and it only confirmed her suspicions.

Which brought them to where they were, sat around a table on benches near Ann’s favourite crepe place, bags of clothes (mostly Ann and Goro’s) by their sides.

Goro, finishing off his treat, would only nod to confirm Ann’s question, eyes closed as he savoured the crepe.

“When was the last time we were irresponsible young adults? Aside from that, I hear The Metaverse is open tonight, and I have a bone to pick with the DJ.”

* * *

Heavy, constant thumping— Was it from Goro’s heart, or from the bass bouncing off the walls and up from the floor?

Standing near the entrance of The Metaverse, Goro would only grin at the red strobelights travelling around the club, passing through his body, lighting up (even if for only the quickest of seconds) his outfit.

Goro was dressed in probably his most daring clubbing outfit yet— A red mesh tank top peeked through the holes of his light, white sweater, where fine rips resembling cat scratches littered both sleeves and his torso: His back, toned and strong from dancing, was most exposed with little fabric clinging across the sweater there, the rips larger and made in the shape of a heart.  
His legs were hugged by the _tightest_ black jeans he owned, where even more holes decorated around his thighs (both back _and_ front,) and he completed the outfit with red, high-top sneakers.

To top it _all_ off, Ann had even applied some light makeup to his face— Concealer under his eyes (thanks to Akira,) some natural blush on his cheeks, and (_God_ yes, Goro was in love) eyeliner drawn _sharply_ on the edges and at the corners of his eyes.

Goro was _hot shit_ when he wanted to be, and damn if Akira Kurusu didn’t notice him in his little get-up tonight.

Seated around their usual table, Goro had his phone out beside the White Russian he’d ordered earlier. He picked it up as he set down the Sex on the Beach he’d been sipping at for the past few minutes, and would only give Ann and Shiho a _look_ (the kind that said “Watch me wreck this man’s entire career”) before he’d shifted his gaze down past the rails, straight into a familiar, sweat-trickled face focused on lit-up equipment and the red, leather gloves placed atop it.

Goro snapped a quick picture of Joker from above, quick to send it to him and to start typing with a grin blown wide on his face.

* * *

**coffee king (sent 12:48)**  
**good morning my sweetest, dearest detective prince! your oh so gracious coffee king has blessed you with his words as you’ve probably awoken, and i will accept any and all thanks you may offer. how was staying up past your bedtime? like living life on the edge? ;)**  
**anyway i got the shift at leblanc today, so if you wanna come in and bask in my coffee presence, PLEASE, by all means. i don’t bite too much ;))**

**You (sent 21:44)  
(You sent a photo.)**

**You (sent 21:44)  
Hello, my humble coffee king. You don’t look so barista-like now, do you?**

**You (sent 21:45)  
You should try and find me tonight. I think you’ll like what you’ll see.**

* * *

Goro angled his phone down towards his thighs, smiled to himself as he snapped a quick picture and sent it to Akira.

“What are you _doing_ right now?” Ann spoke up, a glass of Rum and Coke in her hand as she stared at him. Though her look was not at all disapproving (_far_ from it, actually) she had a curious sheen in her eyes, a sly grin up her cheeks.

Goro would shift his eyes from her, to Shiho (who looked just as interested) then back to Ann as he held his phone above his lap.

“Oh just, _y’know_.. Getting payback for all the teasing Akira does.”

Sickly-sweet and innocent were Goro’s smile as he’d spoken, happy as can be when he’d taken the straw of his Sex on the Beach between his lips once more. He sipped at the drink delightfully, and couldn’t help his teeth from showing through his grin as he watched Ann’s face light up with realisation.

“_Wait_ ohmygod, are you _FLIRTING_ with him?” she exclaimed, her lips set into a perfect ‘O’ when her eyes widened. Shiho, too, seemed shocked at the revelation.

“Goro, _you’re_ flirting now?!”

Goro would only laugh at his friends’ reactions, gaze lolling to the side as he leaned his cheek onto the back of his hand.

“Not _too_ much,” Goro replied simply, “Surprisingly I’m not drunk yet, in case you were wondering. This is being done by a sober Goro Akechi’s own volition.”

It’d surprised Goro when Shiho suddenly let out a high-pitched scream as she’d ducked into him. He felt her arms circling his neck, could only chuckle as she’d hugged him tightly.

“I’m so, so, _so_ happy for you! You’re finally onto the next step of recovery and I’m _so_ freaking _proud_!”

Goro would return the hug, a smile blown wide on his cheeks as he looked at Ann who’d been giving him two thumbs up. When Shiho settled back into her seat, all giddy smiles and bouncing in excitement, she raised her beer.

“I propose a _toast_, because if this is why _you_ of all people wanted to go clubbing tonight, then I want us to celebrate! Goro Akechi is getting better and if that isn’t something to be happy about, I don’t know what is.”

Though that wasn’t actually why he’d dragged them to The Metaverse that night (he wasn’t even really _that_ close to actually taking the next step to recovery yet,) he would still never be able to burst Shiho’s happy bubble. Which _monster_ would do that?

“To Goro’s recovery!”

Happily, he’d raise his Sex on the Beach, just as Ann had raised her Rum and Coke. The three of them clinked their drinks together, Shiho giggling joyfully the entire time.

After finishing their first drinks together, Goro swirled his White Russian around in its glass before taking a sip. He’d checked his phone then, not at all expecting a reply just _yet_ from the still-busy Akira, so instead, he’d raised the front camera to the three of them. He smiled wide as Ann and Shiho struck poses, their lips pulled up into grins as wide as Goro’s.

Ann had commented on the picture when Goro had took it.

“Oh, you have some cream on your lips— Wait a hot fucking _second_.”

Goro hit send, teeth showing through his grin.

“Goro Akechi, you did _not_.”

He’d nod, taking another sip at his drink silently— though the shit-eating grin on his cheeks spelled the clear answer to _everything_ Ann had thought of him in that moment.

“When did _you_ get this fucking _flirty_ while sober?! Was it Akira?! Could Akira actually be _good_ for you?!”

Ann’s questions fired off one by one, her tone increasing in disbelief with each query she shot at Goro. Halfway done with his drink already, Goro licked off the cream from his top lip, a playful wink sent at his best friend.

“I don’t know but I’m sure that picture isn’t going to be too good for _Joker_ when he sees it.”

* * *

An applause met with Joker’s ears after he’d finished his first set for the night, and as he’d bowed for the audience, all he could think of was what could _possibly_ have been making his phone vibrate for a considerable amount of time in his pocket for the past hour and a half.

After playing a continuous loop of a good background song, he’d retreated to backstage— which was _literally_ just the back of the stage but with a water bottle and some snacks for himself. Once he’d sat at the edge of the platform, he finally made to slip his phone out of his back pocket and look at the messages he’d been sent.

Two names popped up on the screen: 10 messages from Futaba, and simply 5 from Goro Akechi.

Akira made to read Futaba’s messages first, in partial fear of what Goro had to say after basically _ignoring_ him for the entire day.

* * *

**Shorty (sent 21:15)  
YO WHAT THE FUCLK**

**Shorty (sent 21:15)  
LOOK WHO JUST**

**Shorty (sent 21:15)  
SDFHERGEEROIGJ LOOK AT YOU R P H O N E.**

**Shorty (sent 21:16)  
LOOK WHO JUST AWLKED INTO YOUR CLUB WEARING WHATEVER THE FUCK IT IS HE’S WEARING RN WHAT THE FUCK IM SHOOK**

**Shorty (sent 21:16)  
(Shorty sent a photo.)**

**Shorty (sent 21:17)  
FUCKING LOOK UP HE’S LITERALLY AT THE BAR RN**

**Shorty (sent 21:31)  
OK SO IM NOT SURE BUT THE BLONDE HE’S WITH IS TALKING W YUSUKE ABOUT SMTH**

**Shorty (sent 21:32)  
THEY ??? THEY’RE ONLY TALKING ABOUT ALWAYS BUYING VODKA OR SOME SHIT IDK I THINK YUSUKE RECOGNISES THEM**

**Shorty (sent 21:33)**  
**OH MY GOD YOUR BOYFRIEND JUST ORDERED SEX ON THE BEACH I CAN’T THAT’S LIKE**  
**TEH DRINK AT THE BAR IN MOVIES WHERE THE MAIN LADY GOES “I’LL HAVE A SEX ON THE BEACH”**  
**HE ACTUALLY DID THE THING I ACTUALLY CAN’T.**

**Shorty (sent 21:34)  
LOOK AT YOUR PHONE AND THEN LOOK UP TO YOUR 11 O’CLOCK**

* * *

Akira already knew who she was referring to, would only peek over the edge of the stage on his right to try and peer up at where his 11 o’clock would’ve been when he stood on stage, searching the second level for one Goro Akechi.

First, he spotted Ryuji standing over a table— Though unlike most of the times, the man in his leather bouncer outfit wasn’t looking at the three people he was talking to with hostility; Actually, Ryuji was laughing, like someone had told him a joke.

Shifting his gaze over to each of the trio Ryuji had spoken with, he recognised Ann, then Shiho, and by the brown, shoulder-length hair _alone_ (even under the filter of red strobelights) he _knew_ that the one who had his back to the stage was Akechi.

But what the _fuck_ was Akechi wearing? There was barely _anything_ covering the man’s back, and from squinting his eyes, Akira could make out red netting underneath the white(?) sweater he wore.

Akira’s lips felt drier than they did before seeing the exposed (but also not really) skin of Goro Akechi’s back. He scooted back to his water bottle and took a sip, right as he began opening up Akechi’s messages.

Suffice to say, he hadn’t exactly _expected_ to see a picture of himself from a bird’s eye view, hands on his mixer and eyes to the crowd with a smile on his lips, when he’d opened up the chat log. But Akira wouldn’t focus on _that_, no— He’d focused on the last message Akechi sent him.

_Cream_. Framing the top of Akechi’s upper lip, so _thickly_ and so obviously _suggestively_ that Akira had to suck in a breath lest he’d shudder. He couldn’t even focus on anything in the group selfie besides Goro Akechi’s fucking _lips_.

**_Fuck_**.

Akira felt weak. So _that_ was why Futaba was yelling at him through text.

There was a need to re-read Akechi’s third text to him over and over, and Akira could only guess that it was from the skin-generous outfit Goro Akechi decided to wear for that night.

_Did he pick it while he was **drunk**? Akechi wouldn’t voluntarily choose to wear something that showy.. Right?_

Goddamn, Akira was weak— _So_ incredibly weak.

_Fuck, he’s hot._

He had to stay focused here, had to keep up the aloof act he was putting up.

* * *

**You (sent 22:27)  
i already have an idea but i like it already ;))**

**You (sent 22:28)  
i’m actually on break right now. care to see me at the bar?**

**detective prince (sent 22:30)  
Oh I’m terribly sorry but I’m afraid I won’t.**

**You (sent 22:31)  
“won’t”?**

**detective prince (sent 22:32)  
It’ll ruin the surprise ;)**

* * *

Who.. Was this the same Goro Akechi that he knew? The same Akechi that would flush up at the smallest of flirts and the slightest of suggestiveness? Did he get kidnapped and replaced with a clone that was more outgoing and (God forbid) _flirty_?

Akira wasn’t _complaining_, but he was only starting to wonder how the _Hell_ he would get through the night unscathed.

* * *

**You (sent 22:35)  
and when am i going to get this “surprise”?**

**detective prince (sent 22:35)  
The sooner you get back on stage, the sooner you’ll see it**

* * *

Akira peered back out to look at where Akechi sat, only finding him gone when he checked.  
He felt the sudden need to munch on his snacks and chug his water down as quickly as he could.

After the DJ had stretched up and had given himself enough sustenance to last for another set, he stepped back onto the stage and slipped the headphones around his neck over his skull again. Lowering the volume of the loop he’d set, he’d grab the mic and wave at the crowd.

“You ready to dance?” he’d shout into the mic, a wide smile on his cheeks. One hand already went to the more dance-oriented tracks on his laptop.

Once the collective shouts of affirmation died down, Akira turned the volume back up after starting a reggaeton song. As the party shifted back up, his eyes would look into the mass of people on the dancefloor.

He didn’t even need to search very much, it seemed, because Goro Akechi had a way of drawing attention to himself.

As he danced, hips moving, back curved, hands dragging along down his body, Joker could _clearly_ see now the surprise Akechi had apparently had in store for him— Absolute _eyecandy_ in the form of Goro Akechi in the most _scandalous_ get-up he’d seen the brunette in yet, dancing so in _sync_ to the song blaring around the air in both tempo and feel.

Joker couldn’t keep his eyes off the man, couldn’t stop himself from watching him move with pure _sex appeal_ and _confidence_, couldn’t even stop a gasp from forcing past his lips when Akechi dragged his hand over his ass. When he’d glimpsed over to the dancer’s eyes, Akechi had that _look_ in them again—Precisely the _exact_ same one he’d seen the second time he was aware that Akechi was in his club.

He was looking at Joker with that same message, though it seemed like he was more aware of himself then, more _sure_ of the movement of his body and the absolutely _delectable_ way he looked in that moment.

_I know you’re watching me and I **fucking** love it._

Joker had to say that he loved it, himself— Loved watching Goro Akechi do the most natural thing he knew how to do, which was: lose himself to the music, let it guide the way his muscles moved and the way his face expressed itself.

Right then, Goro Akechi looked like a _sex god_ with the _dirtiest_, most _sinful_ way his features contorted: a sweet smirk on his lips, his eyes (lined with fucking _eyeliner_) half-lidded with long lashes fanning over the red irises just _burning_ with desire as they stared back at Joker.

Joker wouldn’t stop himself from absorbing every second he could of Goro Akechi’s dancing.

“That’s my _boy_!” he faintly heard from up above with the music blaring, and only recognised the voice as Ann’s cheering when he’d shifted the songs again— The third time since Akechi had started moving on the dancefloor.

Joker had a _long_ night ahead of him.

He wasn’t sure _when_, exactly, but at some point near the end of his set, Akechi had disappeared from view. Joker couldn’t even see him from where he sat before, would only catch a brief glimpse of Ann and Suzui talking with one another— With, as it seemed, more intimacy than friends usually talked to each other with.

He’d had his guesses about the two’s relationship before, though told himself not to pry into it unless they’d actually _told_ him anything first. Right then, they’d only fed more evidence to his theory of Suzui being Ann’s partner, romantically, and the way the two were looking at each other stoked the fire.

Akira had snuck to the bar after his second set had ended, and by then it was already past midnight— _01:37_, his phone had supplied.

He sat on the corner stool, only waving to Yusuke once before he’d looked back down to his screen. As he typed, he greeted the clubgoers who’d compliment him, would give them smiles and thanks, though his focus was entirely on finding out what happened to Akechi.

* * *

**You (sent 01:41)  
hey, still around?**

* * *

Yusuke set a glass of water down in front of Akira, which he’d accepted and drank gratefully. He still ordered a beer, though.

“Gotta say, you’re _very_ impressive,” a voice beside Akira spoke up, slurred and tipsy by the sound of it. Engrossed in waiting for Akechi to at least _look_ at his text, he’d only offer a smile without really looking at the man.

“Thanks.”

He began typing again.

* * *

**You (sent 01:46)  
ann and suzui are still here, so..**

* * *

Akira feared the worst already. Did Akechi get picked up? Was he gone because he’d left the club with someone?

“Hah.. This cute guy I’m texting is getting a lil’ bit desperate..” the voice spoke up again, and Akira, from the corner of his eye, saw his blurry silhouette. “But maybe you should look up first before you think I’ve gone off and sucked some guy’s dick.”

Akira glanced up to white hands looking pale under a white sweater, his eyes trailing up from the ripped sleeves to brown hair—eventually, he met the burning gaze of Goro Akechi.

“Hey, cutie. Come here often?” Akechi grinned, and Akira felt himself unable to breathe for a second. Akechi looked even hotter up close and personal, sitting on the stool beside him with a bottle of beer in one hand and his phone in the other.

He decided to play it _cool_, like he usually did, as he turned his body to face the man. One arm leaned onto the surface of the bar, and he’d taken the beer Yusuke handed to him with ease as he made to smirk at Akechi.

“Actually, I don’t. Usually I’m on the stage.”

Akira took a swig of his beer, right as he caught Akechi leaning into him.

“Here’s your hot tip for the night. He’s got black hair.”

That’d earned a laugh out of Akira then, and he would set down his bottle on the bar, beside his elbow, as he’d looked back at Akechi. He was laughing, too, though seemed more uninhibited that normal.

_It’s the alcohol_.

“You _do_ know most of Japan has black hair, right?” Akira questioned, a smile playing on his lips.

“Your point?” Akechi tipped the bottle up over his own lips.

“Too general. What did we say about too general?”

Akira watched as Akechi leaned into his hand after pocketing his phone.

“It doesn’t count but if I recall correctly, it’s _your_ turn to give me a hint.”

Akechi was smiling up at him, though it was in the most blatantly smartassy smile in the world. Akira tried not to let his eyes wander down his loose collar, tried not to bite his bottom lip seeing Akechi’s chest through the red mesh reminiscent of bondage ropes.

“He’s got good fashion sense,” he finally said, sipping at his beer once more.

“Better than mine?” Akechi pouted, and Akira wanted (very badly) to bite those plump lips then.

“Actually, I’d say that he usually has a less explicit wardrobe than you do. Have you _always_ had those clothes or did you buy them specifically for tonight?” Akira prodded, his voice teasing. Akechi, it seemed, took it in easy stride as he leaned back suddenly.

“And what if I _did_ buy them just a few hours ago? Think I’d be dressing up for you?”

Akira only responded with a toothy grin and a “Your turn.”

The way Akechi huffed, Akira decided, was the cutest thing ever.

“He works out.”

“Is he ripped?”

“That counts as a hint. ‘M not telling you.”

“Fair enough.”

The rest of Akira’s break continued doing nothing but talking with Akechi as the two shared beers and spilled more hints. The entire time, their eyes would leave each other only on the rarest of occurrences, and Akira took the pleasure of letting his eyes roam all over Goro Akechi’s outfit.

Hours passed by quickly after then. He’d seen Akechi on the dancefloor here and there, now and again, though at some point the dancer had disappeared altogether along with Ann and Suzui. When Akira had decided to wrap the night up at the wee hour of three in the morning, most of the clubgoers for the night had already left, and so he’d jogged up to his apartment to switch on the lights at the club before coming back down to help with cleanup.

Akira was doing his usual thing, sweeping across the floor, trying to keep himself awake by pure _willpower_ alone. Up above, only Yusuke was collecting the rest of the glasses as Ryuji took the ones in the bin he held to the bar.

“Hey, Ryuji?” he’d called out to the blonde man. Ryuji would simply look back at him.

“Yeah?”

Akira pondered his question for a bit, though in the end shook his head. He was curious about what Goro had been telling him to make him laugh earlier, though decided that he’d probably seem like a creep if he did.

“Actually, never mind. Come help me with mopping down the floor?” 

Ryuji only gave him a thumbs up before he’d begun heading straight to the men’s room, where they kept their mops and buckets.

“What time is it, by the way? I gotta check because— _HOLY SHIT!”_

Akira had nearly dropped his broom at the sudden shout, coming from Ryuji who stood in front of the bathroom door. He approached his best friend with hurried steps and worry in his voice.

“What is it? Is there blood from another fight or some—“

_Oh_.

Fast asleep, slumped against the corner of the sinks of the men’s bathroom, laid an unconscious Goro Akechi. Akira had pushed past Ryuji to sprint over to the form of the sleeping man, a hand immediately on his shoulder.

“Wait, he’s _okay_, right? He’s just really shitfaced n’ shit?”

Akira tried shaking the brunette, to no avail. He could see Akechi’s chest rise and fall, though, so that was as sure of a sign as any that he was merely unconscious.

“Yeah, yeah.. He’s just asleep.” Akira checked his phone for the time. It was already past three-thirty in the morning.

_Would Ann still be awake right now? He never told me where they live, so I can’t exactly just take him home myself_..

Akira would slip his arms around Akechi’s chest, propping him up in a more comfortable position before he’d dialled up Ann’s number.

He tried. He really did. After five calls, Akira got the memo that she wouldn’t pick up, and if _Ann_ was already gone, he was sure Suzui was, too.

“Dude.. What are we going to do about Akechi? Have any idea where he lives?” 

Akira would only shake his head.

There was really only thing that he could do, with his only options exhausted.

“I’m taking him up to my apartment. Think you could help me carry him up the stairs, man?”

Akira, Ryuji, and Yusuke had rushed through the rest of cleanup with Akechi sleeping in the club’s bathroom. By the time they’d tucked away their cleaning supplies, Akira had asked Yusuke to carry his laptop as he and Ryuji carried Akechi up the three flights of stairs to his apartment.

Once inside, they’d all slipped their shoes off and Ryuji carried Akechi the rest of the way to Akira’s bedroom. Futaba wouldn’t exactly let it pass if their information (hidden in her room) would slip out.

Akira had bowed his head in thanks to his two friends for the help that night before they left, with the promise of free ramen for all the trouble. They’d already set a date when they were all free.

Within his apartment, Akira switched off the lights at The Metaverse when Ryuji and Yusuke had left. Heading into his kitchen, he made to grab a glass of water and painkillers off the medicine cabinet before taking both to his bedroom.

Akechi’s sleeping form on his bed made Akira have to suck in a breath, if only imagining the killer hangover the man would have come morning. Silently, he left the water and the meds on his nightstand before heading back out to his living room.

Dead inside, exhausted, and overall just _tired_, Akira crashed onto the couch after switching off the lights. Immediately after, he felt four paws land on his stomach, and Akira would only stroke Mona’s back until he fell asleep, a single thought in the back of his head.

_Goro Akechi is in my apartment_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is almost six am my dudes. have an early update lmao
> 
> like i said on my twitter ([@relictionism](https://twitter.com/relictionism) bc shameless self-promotion) TRACK 08 IS GOING TO BE A FUN CHAPTER, AND A FUN CHAPTER IT BECAME. Y'ALL ENJOY IT ?
> 
> i rlly love a confident king goro you guys <33
> 
> listen list !! (songs that got me through this chapter)  
bts - fake love  
persona 5 ost - beneath the mask  
persona 5 ost - hoshi to bokura to  
stefflon don - 16 shots  
j balvin, willy william (ft. beyonce) - mi gente


	10. Track 09

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the day spent at his place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love this chapter

The first thing that registered in Goro Akechi’s brain when he stirred from slumber, was the faint smell of coffee in the air— Aside from the pain drilling at all angles of his brain, of course.

Laying on soft, grey covers, the brunette would groan at the onslaught of sunshine streaming from his left, and so made to roll over to his right with the blankets over his head. His eyes were shut tight, if not from the migraine, then from the nausea he felt looming below the pit of his stomach.

Okay. _Okay_. He was officially an idiot for taking shots with Ann and Shiho last night, along with his three other drinks already.

He at least knew that if he didn’t move _too_ much, he wouldn’t immediately vomit.

His blankets smelled nice, though— Like, _incredibly_ nice. Like fabric softener and coffee. The voice in the back of Goro’s head wondered why his bedsheets smelled so different, but maybe it was the hangover. Besides, he wasn’t complaining: The scent brought him comfort. Maybe Ann was making coffee in the kitchen, and he needed that right now.

After minutes of laying in bed, attempting (desperately) to fall back asleep and finding his effort was all for naught, Goro finally decided to crack his eyes open, lifting his head from the blankets and sitting up. A yawn had escaped him, and with tears building up at the corner of one eye, he took a look around his room— Because Goro was well aware, even in his state, that his windows were above his bed, and not off to the far left.

Which left him with the realisation— He wasn’t in _his_ bed, nor in his _bedroom_, and _certainly_ not in his and Ann’s apartment when he registered the light grey walls surrounding him, so different from the pristine white of his own at home.

Goro was in a stranger’s place, in a stranger’s bedroom, having slept on a stranger’s bed.

Perhaps to say that “_Oh fuck_” was the first thing his mind had brought up was false, because it might just have been the hundredth thought and Goro wouldn’t know. _So_ many things raced through his head as he’d peered around the bedroom in his state, hungover, light-headed, and _incredibly_ nauseous.

Goro looked down at himself. He was still clothed in the outfit from the night before, though that didn’t exactly rule out the possibility that he _might_ have hooked up with someone without being conscious of it. That was really the only explanation he could think of in that moment, to fill his brain in on why the _fuck_ he was in some person’s home.

Glaring at the large window on the wall at his left, Goro made to scan the bedroom over. He at least wanted to know what kind of person the guy he slept with was, if only judging by his bedroom.  
In the left-hand corner sat a station, of sorts, with large computer screens on a large table. A single computer keyboard sat beside a microphone angled up on a stand, with professional-looking headphones hung from a hook above it. Beside the computer setup stood a digital piano, and a single loud speaker hung from the corner of the room above it.  
Right in front of Goro on the bed, he realised he stared back at a wide mirror, whose edges were framed in white and red detailing, _swirls_. Looking further to the right sat the door, and to Goro’s full right were closed closet doors. It was only then that he’d noticed a glass of water and three pills sitting atop a white nightstand, beside the bed he laid on.

Well at least the guy he hooked up with was nice enough to leave him painkillers. Goro usually had shit taste in men, especially when he was blackout drunk.

His hand reached for the pills, but he’d stopped himself midway.

_I’d only vomit more if I take those without food._

And so, with slow but sure movements, Goro made to leave the warm bed, his feet making contact with the cold, wooden floor. When he’d left the bedroom, he made to keep the door ajar, just so he wouldn’t have to fall over trying to get it open again after he’d raided the place’s kitchen.

Akechi realised then that he was in an apartment, apparent in the open studio-type plan. To his right was a corridor with three, white doors, and in front of him was a wide, open space.

There were more windows to the wall on Goro’s left, and he spotted a black couch with matching chairs around a wooden coffee table the colour of oak, right in front of a flatscreen TV mounted on the wall above a low and wide shelf. Far off to the farthest wall from where he stood, he made out a sleek, black refrigerator, and so made to take slow steps towards it. He didn’t want to upset his stomach more than it _already_ was.

But after he’d only passed the sofa, Goro heard a meow. Right below him.

He’d peer to his feet—where the sensation of fur rubbing against his ankles tickled Goro—only to see bright blue eyes staring back at him.

The cat had black fur all around its body except for its little paws and a section at the end of its tail, which were white. There was a patch of fur around its snout that was the colour, as well. Around its neck was a bright, yellow collar.

A pang of realisation hit Goro.

“_Mona_?”

This cat.. It was Akira’s cat. _Mona_. The exact same one he’d seen among Joker’s social media and in the pictures Akira had sent him before.

Was he in _Akira’s_ apartment? Was _that_ why the bed looked so familiar?

“Oh shit.”

**_Did I hook up with Akira fucking Kurusu_**.

Mona would only mewl up at Goro, circling his feet, rubbing up on him: _blissfully_ unaware of the internal panic that stormed inside the brunette’s head. The cat had followed him all the way to the kitchen with his slow and steady progress there, but Goro’s determination to get to there was not fuelled by the need to take the painkillers, but by the sudden _need_ for somewhere to vomit onto— and _soon_.

He _knew_ deep within his core that bile was going to come out of his mouth, and if Goro was going to throw up, he wanted it to at least not cause _too_ much of a mess in the man’s home.

Head bowed, with one hand flat on the counter beside the sink (the other holding his hair up,) Goro retched the contents of his stomach out. When he was _sure_ there wouldn’t be anything else coming up (at least, anytime soon) he turned the faucet and let water wash away part of his regrets.

At some point, Goro had held his head below the running water, his eyes closed. Wet locks of hair stuck to his neck and his face, some stray droplets went into his sweater, but he just _needed_ this— Needed to _think_ he supposed, though why under water, he wasn’t sure.

Goro felt the black cat lean against his leg.

He _couldn’t_ have hooked up with Akira, right? They were _friends_.. But then again, Akira Kurusu hasn’t exactly proven to him that being friends would stop his incessant flirting, so what of going _past_ that?

Oh _God_, was it just casual? Was it a one-night stand? Were they still even _friends_ or just _sex buddies_ now? The Higher Powers from Above knew _damn_ well that Goro Akechi didn’t need any more of that at the moment, so he needed to find out where he and Akira stood in the relationship, now that they’ve slept with each other.

Goro shut off the faucet, only staring down at the metal sink for a bit. His lips pursed, and his head still felt like someone had a powerhammer driving down his brain, but all he could really focus on was _Akira_.

Speaking of, where even _was_ the man? Could he have been in one of the rooms down the corridor Goro saw earlier?

What time even _was_ it?

Goro felt his back pocket for his phone, could only lean against the counter as he pressed the power button. The battery was dead.

_Well, shit_.

Wait, wasn’t it Friday? Didn’t Goro have _work_?!

That was the breaking point. Goro slumped down against the cabinets below the counters. He stared up at the fridge, not even really concerned anymore with the painkillers or food. Mona would keep rubbing up against him, though now he was getting his fur all over Goro’s sweater sleeve.

Goro’s stare was blank as he only _looked_ at the fridge, gazed back at his distorted reflection in the black sheen of the appliance— All until he looked up, and saw a piece of paper stuck to the door. With the little energy he had, he pushed himself up off the floor (_slowly_) and went over to the paper.

His head throbbed as he read the message written on the white sticky note, the penmanship not _neat,_ nor _messy_.

_Went out for groceries. Be back soon._  
_Good morning, my sweetest detective prince <3_  
_(p.s. do you prefer blueberry or banana?)_

Okay, that was definitely by Akira, no doubt about it. No one called him that besides the man.

Goro found his hand reaching out for the paper, his fingers only grazing over the words. Why did it sound so _domestic_, though? Why did the words (and this _could_ just be Goro’s overactive imagination) appear so _fond_, and _loving_? Was this Akira’s idea of after-sex care?

If so, he was definitely doing a tremendously better job than all of Goro’s past partners.

Goro heard the _beep_ of the door opening, just as he’d let his hand fall to the handle of the refrigerator door.

Speak of the Devil, and he shall come.

“Honey, I’m home!”

Akira’s cheerful voice had called out to the air of the apartment, and Goro could only turn his head and watch as the man himself walked into the living room area with two, large paper bags cradled in his arms. Immediately, Akira had spotted him by the fridge, and Goro felt as if he should crumple up on the ground and lay there forever, at the bright smile the man had fucking _beamed_ at him.

“Welcome.. Welcome home..!” Goro would awkwardly reply, unsure what to do now as he stood in the midst of the kitchen, one hand only limply, half-heartedly wrapped around the handle of the fridge’s door. Still, he forced himself to manage a small, welcoming smile at Akira.

_What the **fuck** should I be doing right now?_

Maybe it wasn’t at all related, but as Akira had approached him and set the bags down onto the counter separating them (from kitchen to living room,) Goro felt his migraine beat down on his head more and more, harder and harder.. But was it really the migraine or his pulse that did that?

In his ears, he could hear his heartbeat pounding.

“Are you okay enough to stand? I thought you’d be more “Leave _me alone and don’t tell me to get up_” hungover than “_walking around, up and at ‘em_” hungover,” Akira had commented, already rummaging his hands within one of the paper bags filled with groceries.

Goro would only turn his back to the fridge and walk over to lean on the counter, his head lolling to one side. His temples throbbed, but he still looked up at Akira with a little pout on his lips.

“I need food first before I can take painkillers.”

Akira had darted his eyes to Goro then, and a wide smile stretched up his cheeks as he pulled out two boxes from within the bag.

“Well it’s just your luck that I’m an amazing coffee king. Have you decided on an answer yet?”

Goro closed his eyes, felt like the beating his brain was taking would lessen if he did.

“To what?”

“Blueberry or banana?”

At that point, Goro was really only falling over, so he decided to drag himself around the corner and sit on the nearest stool at Akira’s breakfast counter. With his head laid atop folded arms, he’d mutter,

“.. Blueberry.”

Goro felt a hand pat the back of his head then, and would only, slowly, peer an eye up at Akira. The widest of smiles had blown up on the man’s face when he’d quirked an eyebrow up.

“Why do you want to know if I prefer blueberry or banana?” he’d inquire, his voice raspy. He needed a drink, and Goro began regretting not taking the water from earlier.

“Because I wanted to know which pancakes you want for breakfast.”

He was nauseous. That was why his cheeks were flushing, nothing else.

Goro had simply laid his head back down onto the counter, closing his eyes. Though he couldn’t fall asleep, he at least opted to turn off as many of his senses as he could, to lessen the attack on his brain.  
He heard footsteps walk away from him, then a cabinet opening and closing— More footsteps, then the sound of the faucet turning on and off after a few seconds, before there was a faint _clink_ beside his head.

Goro could only look to it, then let his eyes follow the hand that retreated to the other side of the counter.

“Staying hydrated is the key to getting rid of a hangover quickly, so drink up. You’re going to head straight back to bed after you eat and take your painkillers and I don’t want to hear _any_ arguments from you.”

Though Akira’s voice had the tiniest lilt of _commanding_, he didn’t sound at all harsh— More like a big brother scolding a younger sibling, or (quite possibly) a boyfriend in extreme _care for my significant other_ mode.

Goro was sure it was from the sex last night. People tended to be more caring of someone after partaking in such an intimate act, after all. Goro had seen it happen too many times, though usually, the aftermath of that care turned ugly.

It was like certain people dumped all their love and care onto you into a short segment of time before they just _knew_ that they had you wrapped around their little finger _completely_, and you had already become too pliant and grateful to them that you don’t let go of them even though the voice in your head and the voices of many people you know are telling you that they’re being manipulative and abusive.

But that was only _hypothetical_— A _completely_ made-up situation. Goro _definitely_ didn’t live through trauma like that for years on end, suffering in an endless loop due to his broken childhood and even _messier_ pubescence.

Which he didn’t have. Not at _all_.

Goro only stared at the glass of water as he spoke.

“So you’re really caring after you hook up with someone, hm?” he began, voice almost _too_ casual. Akira, who was in the midst of mixing pancake flour into a bowl, would snap his head up at him— At least, that’s what Goro saw from the corner of his eye.

“_What?_”

“You could’ve stopped at the painkillers and the water beside the bed, though.”

“Akechi..” Akira’s voice was gentle, almost as if he were trying to approach a scared kitten. “What are you talking about?”

Goro’s chin sat on his arms, as he’d do nothing but look up at Akira. The look in his eyes spelled how _tired_ he was, though that wasn’t all reliant on _physically_ tired.

“Last night?” he prodded.

“What _about_ last night..? You were passed out in the bathroom at the club and I took you up here because Ann and Suzui were gone, and you never told me where you live.”

Akira’s eyes showed his confusion, his genuine _innocence_ at what Goro had been alluding to.

“Hm. Never mind, then,” Goro replied, promptly, before laying his forehead back down onto his arms. It was the easiest way to avoid a conversation he didn’t want to have.

If they really _didn’t_ fuck the night before, when Goro was all dressed and dolled up and ready for the taking in his drunken, _vulnerable_ state, then that was that. Goro would simply act like he doesn’t remember bringing up anything when he awoke from a _long_ nap later.

Miraculously, Goro had fallen into light slumber when the smell of coffee and butter in a pan floated among the air. He’d only awoken again when he felt Akira’s hand on his back, the smell of blueberry pancakes right in front of him. He lifted his head then, only looking up at Akira.

The smile he offered the man, with bags under his eyes and with his hair an absolute _mess_, must’ve been the fakest he’d ever pulled. Goro Akechi wasn’t very much in the mood to be cheerful about anything, but Akira had been such a caring host— It was the least he could do.

“A stack of blueberry pancakes, with a side of water and painkillers, for my Detective Prince,” Akira had said, and the grin on his cheeks, the shine of his irises behind fake glasses, made Goro think that Akira Kurusu had to be the most beautiful creature in existence.

“All thanks to my Coffee King,” he’d reply, picking up the fork placed beside the plate of pancakes set in front of him.

Goro would eat slowly, _carefully_, in order not to suddenly trigger another vomit session within his stomach. Akira had sat down beside him on the next stool over, a mug of steaming coffee set in front of him, and Goro could only hum at the smell that wafted in the air.

Akira’s apartment reminded him of the homeliness of Café Leblanc, though maybe it was because it was an actual _home_; Maybe it was because of the coffee that smelled suspiciously close to the smell of that floating around the café.

Maybe it was because Akira was there, beside him, as they enjoyed a quiet meal together in a comfortable silence that brought him back to the Friday they _truly_ bonded together.

The situation was even a bit close to that time: The smell of coffee in the air, the two of them alone, but _together_, with Akira’s warmth radiating off to his side. If he weren’t hungover, Goro would say that it was the perfect moment.

“I wanted to ask, what time is it?” Goro would ask after a while, his stack close to finished in front of him. Akira would check his wristwatch before simply taking in another sip of his warmed drink.

“11:30. I left the house around 10:30, so you woke up sometime after that.”

“How do you know I was still asleep when you left?”

“I checked on you before I went out to buy groceries.”

Another flush of the cheeks. Goro would only tell himself it was the hangover.

When Goro had finished his food, he made to pop the two pills into his mouth and down it with water— Which he’d finished off in one, big swig. Akira was quick to help him up off his seat, wrapping Goro’s arm around his shoulders with Akira’s own slipping around Goro’s back. He stumbled back into (as he’d realised then was) Akira’s bedroom with the man’s help, and only sat back down on the edge when Akira told him to.

Goro could only watch, head drooping here and there (though he forced himself upright as much as he could with hands gripping the mattress) as Akira slid open one closet door and filed through the shirts hung within. He found himself being handed a large, black shirt and green sweats, to which he’d only look up at Akira in question for.

“You’re not sleeping in those clothes anymore. They smell like booze and I have _no idea_ if your legs still even _have_ circulation because of how tight your jeans are.”

Goro gave him a _look_, like immature defiance and incredulity all in one.

“Change out of those clothes, or I’m doing it for you,” Akira commanded, his tone final— though he’d given Goro a wink by the end, the _stupidest_ smirk playing at his lips.

Akira only took Goro’s glare with easy stride.

“Okay, _fine_, but leave me alone? I don’t want to strip in front of you.”

Akira (dumb, stupid, smartass _asshole_ Akira) only turned on his heel and showed Goro his back, his arms crossed over his chest. Goro didn’t even _need_ to look at Akira’s face to know that he was smiling that shit-eating grin again.

Goro made a point to let out a _loud_, exasperated groan and a huff before he’d begun peeling his clothes off, where the smell of sweat and (as Akira had pointed out, right all along) alcohol clung to. Though he’d had some difficulty slipping his feet out through the holes of the jeans (tipping forwards, but then forcing himself back, giving his head a _time_) he eventually managed to tuck into the green sweats along with the black shirt.

Now, instead of sweat and booze, he smelled like Akira. Goro wouldn’t say he _didn’t_ prefer it, but..

“I changed into your clothes. Are you happy now?”

“Oh? I thought the baby would’ve needed some help.”

Goro would’ve thrown a pillow or two at the man, if only his head wasn’t _killing him_.

When Akira had turned back at Goro, he could only widen his eyes seeing him hold up his dead phone. His mouth opened just as Akira began explaining.

“You left this on the counter. I’ll charge it while you sleep but do you wanna message Ann on my phone first? She’s been blowing my messages up.”

“_You_ do it. I can’t even look at _sunlight_ right now without wanting to gouge my eyes out.”

“And if she thinks I’ve kidnapped her best friend and are holding him hostage in my apartment?”

Goro was honestly too tired to think too much. He motioned for Akira to come near him then patted the spot beside him on the edge of the mattress. Akira sat down next to him, _his_ phone now in hand.

“Camera. Open it up, _now_ please.”

Akira complied, and Goro would sling his arms around Akira’s shoulders, his head leaning onto Akira’s cheek as he stuck his tongue out at the front cam. When Akira had snapped the picture of them, Goro withdrew himself and began scooting back to the pillows, hand already grabbing at the blankets.

“Send it to her and tell her I’m dying but I’ll be fine. Ann won’t _tear you apart_ or anything, just as long as she knows I’m safe.”

Goro laid down onto the pillows, his back to the sunshine of the large windows. He’d shut his eyes, his lips pursed into a line.

He _really_ couldn’t be bothered to deal with anything right now.

“Will do, my Prince. Anything else?” Akira joked, and Goro would only peer up at him with one eye.

“Actually, yeah,” he murmured, sitting up only slightly once more, “Thanks. For taking care of me, I mean. I really appreciate it.”

The smile Akira gave him matched the fondness of his eyes, showed the sincerity he harboured.

“It’s my pleasure.”

Mona slipped in through the opened door then, making a beeline for the spot beside Goro. The two laughed together as the black cat made to snuggle up into a ball by Goro’s stomach.

“Mona likes you.”

“Mhm.”

Goro made to lay his head back down onto the pillow, one hand scratching at Mona’s head lightly. Their voices had gone quiet as Mona snuggled up to the brunette, almost as if taking care not to wake the cat— But it could have been the domesticity of the situation, could have been the (technically) still-morning air, or it could have been the moment they didn’t want to break, didn’t want to _ruin_. 

“You wanna go to sleep now?”

“Yeah..”

“Are you comfortable? Not too cold in here?”

“No,” Goro laughed, though quietly.

“Want me to get a spit bucket in case you need to throw up?”

“Akira, you don’t need to do that much—“

“I _want_ to, Akechi.”

There was a silence that befell them, and Goro couldn’t break the stare Akira gave him, whose eyes were oh _so_ warm and gentle and all the things Goro had wanted in his entire life. His fingers were paused from petting Mona, and he could only try to grasp at straws trying to breathe, trying to regain control of his words and his actions and his _head_.

“Goro,” he finally said, though it’d come out a little more dazed, a little more _breathless_ than he wanted it to. “Call me Goro.”

Goro would mentally back away, though externally he would only let his eyes follow as Akira approached him by the side of his bed. There was no flinch this time, no hesitation that he _wanted_ this, when Akira’s hand reached out to his face and tucked a lock of hair back behind his ear.

A sigh left his lips when Akira cupped his cheek, his eyes gazing up at the man’s shining, obsidian irises.

“Sleep well. Goodnight, Goro.”

Goro didn’t want Akira’s nice hand to leave him, but he didn’t ask for the man to stay at least until he fell asleep, didn’t want to be even _more_ vulnerable than he already let himself be— Could only savour the warmth of Akira’s palm before he’d slipped it off and began taking small, slow strides back to the door.

“Goodnight, Akira.”

* * *

Behind a silently closed bedroom door, Akira leaned his back onto the wood all until he slid down to the ground and buried his face in his knees. The warmth in his cheeks, the blood rushing to his face.. It was all from Goro Akechi, all from the intimate little moments they shared together, from the way Goro’s eyes would look at him, the way his lips would smile at him, the way his voice said Akira’s name.

Morgana was right. He had never been _this_ smitten for someone before, and it was both driving Akira _crazy_ while giving him so much _happiness_ all in the same breath.

That was what Goro Akechi did to him, and when he’d finally let Akira say his name, call out to him with the quietest, _warmest_ tone he’d ever used on anyone, it made Akira’s heart flutter, made his pulse skyrocket just at the _thought._

He sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm his heart down, doing his best to gather his thoughts and move on with the day off Sojiro gave him.

In the end, all he could really think about was Goro.

It was around 5 PM when Ann Takamaki and Shiho Suzui had rung his doorbell, and Akira was just at the final touches of setting up the table for four before he’d gone to answer, apron still very much tied around his neck and waist.

Earlier (when he’d _finally_ gotten his bearings enough to stand and get up off the floor) he made to send that text informing Ann what’d happened to Ake— Goro. He explained where he found Goro the night before, _swearing_ that he only put him to bed before knocking out himself, and only feeding him breakfast and giving him a spare change of clothes that morning. At the end of his little string of texts, he sent the picture of him and Goro, a seal of approval by the man himself that he was totally okay with all of it. In addition to all of that, Akira had invited Ann and Shiho to dinner at his place, because if they were going to come over to pick up Goro anyway, they might as well eat together, too.

Opening the door, Akira was met with greetings from the two women, who, in their hands, held a melon. Akira had stepped to the side as he welcomed his guests into his home and Ann and Shiho had exchanged their shoes for the slippers he kept at the side of the entrance.

“We’re sorry for causing you any trouble,” Suzui had said, and Ann would only follow up with “Sorry for intruding like this, Akira.”

Akira would only brush them off, telling them that it was fine, as they’d walked into his living room.

“Has Goro been sleeping the entire day? We were so worried when he just _disappeared_ on us last night,” Suzui was saying, bringing the melon over to the breakfast counter. Meanwhile, Ann followed Akira to the door at the other side of the living room as he spoke.

“Yeah, he’s been pretty much in bed since I gave him pancakes and painkillers this morning. Surprisingly, he only came out to vomit _once_.”

There was visible concern in Ann’s eyes when Goro had been brought up, made even more evident by the way she chewed on her bottom lip. Akira decided to try and placate her.

“I held his hair up when he was over the toilet and helped him back to bed, don’t worry. I bought him a toothbrush while I was still out, too, so he could get it off his teeth.” He’d chuckle a bit before he nodded his head towards the door. “Goro’s sleeping in _here_ if you wanna check up on him. I just want to help Suzui with the melon first. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Ann would only smile gratefully up at Akira before she’d grabbed hold of the doorknob and wandered inside. When the door closed behind her, Akira went ahead to the kitchen, where Suzui was rinsing off the melon under the sink.

Akira took out a kitchen knife from one of the drawers under the counter, along with a cutting board. He was careful to handle the blade when Suzui set the melon down onto the surface of the board.

“You can sit anywhere you’d like, Suzui. I can handle this by myself,” Akira offered, already digging the tip of the knife into the surface of the fruit.

“If it’s alright, I actually want to ask you about something.”

Akira took a quick glance at her, focusing more on cutting up the melon as he spoke.

“Shoot. I’m all ears.”

There was a silence between them for a bit, and sneaking a glance at Suzui once more, Akira could see a hesitation in her eyes, her body language yelling ‘_unsure_.’

But he was patient, would only set a small smile on his lips as he divided the melon into even slices.

“Were you.. Did you happen to go to _Shujin Academy_ for high school, Akira?”

Akira paused, though only for a split-second, as he heard the name. He kept his eyes on the fruit, contorting his face to one of focus.

“I actually did, yeah. How did you find out though?” he asked, sounding casual, careful not to let the smile on his face falter.

“I recognised you a little bit when we first met. You looked familiar.” came Suzui’s reply. Akira detected that hint of shyness in her voice, as if she were still unsure about something.

“I guess a lot of people say that about me.”—Akira set the three slices he’d cut up beside him, stabbing the knife into the fruit again for the fourth slice—“I have one of those generic faces, y’know?”

“I’ve seen _you_ before, more than once, I think.” Akira kept his hand controlled on the knife, his breathing even. He didn’t need to panic. No one saw him that day, he was _sure_ of that.

_Even if anyone **did**, I shouldn’t be a suspect. I was just coming to the faculty office to ask for my phone back. _

“ Do you remember in second year,”—Akira carved the blade along the sides—“When Kamoshi—“

“Hello, party people! He has _arisen_!”

Suddenly Akira was looking up at two pairs of eyes from across the room, one hyperactive, the other, still drowsy. Goro (beautiful, amazingly-adorable Goro) had been combing a hand through his hair as Ann leaned on him with an arm around his shoulders, and the brunette yawned. He looked more alive than at any other point of their day, now.

“Hey, you’re okay now!” Akira exclaimed, a bright smile on his cheeks, the knife set down as he’d picked up the fourth slice off the fruit.

He went ahead to grab a plate to place the slices on when Ann, Goro, and Suzui had begun greeting one another, only glancing _once_ at Suzui.

She was about to ask him about Suguru Kamoshida, the first of what would be many dirty criminals taken down by Arsene.

Akira remembers that day well. Futaba bugged his phone so she could record audio _and_ video on it through her computer, and all that he had to do was get it confiscated by none other than the abusive volleyball coach himself. As Futaba said, it was more likely for it to be on his person, if not on his desk.  
Futaba’s prediction was right, because that very same day, a little after practise had ended, the bug she planted on his phone picked up _every_ noise, every _protest_, and every muffled cry of the girl Suguru Kamoshida had assaulted in the Phys. Ed. faculty room.

When Akira had come to retrieve his phone from the _disgusting_ coach, the girl Kamoshida had raped was gone, and with incriminating evidence of the crime recorded and safe in Futaba’s hands, he and the then-fifteen-year-old girl had made their move.

They sent an email (protected under multiple proxies and VPNs) to _every_ student and faculty member of Shujin Academy (Akira included, to avoid suspicions) threatening Suguru Kamoshida. They gave him an ultimatum: Confess to his sins, or be faced with rightful judgement.

In the end, he and Futaba had sent the evidence to the police anonymously, played snippets of the recording (where Kamoshida’s voice had been most prominent) at the first school assembly they had since the threat, and Suguru Kamoshida was a man with power no more.

That was the first time, the first incident— The birth of Arsene and Oracle, as one could say.

Akira could only wonder why _Shiho Suzui_ would bring that up now, when five years had already passed. Was _she_ somehow involved in the case?

_But then again, she **is** a physical therapist. She has a limp like Ryuji’s, though she tries not to make it obvious. Could she have been a member of one of the teams Kamoshida had control over?_

It (getting a profession in line with helping those whose injuries are similar to one’s own) spelled _trauma_ from Akira’s perspective, when he’d broken down all the facts and observations he’s made of Shiho Suzui.  
Physical therapist with a limp who _coincidentally_ also went to Shujin Academy, right at the height of Suguru Kamoshida’s abuse with the teams he ‘_coached_’? _And_ she recognised Akira after seeing him “more than once”?

He had to be a bit more careful around the woman now.

Akira tried not to let it plague his mind too much when he’d sat down with the others at the dinner table. The curry he’d made for dinner was Leblanc’s recipe, though tweaked by himself just a bit. He had three side dishes for each of them, and conversation rolled easily.

“Oh hey, _actually_,” Ann had blurted, at one point, “The bartender at The Metaverse recognised me and Goro last night. Like.. He “never forgets a beautiful face” or something along those lines.”

Akira could only offer an easy laugh, nodding, “Yusuke has a thing for beauty. It’s kinda his _job_ to do that.”

All eyes turned to him, urging him to continue with curiosity painted on all of their faces. He chuckled again.

“Yusuke’s not _just_ the bartender at The Metaverse, he’s an art major, too. He paints, but he did a lot of the aesthetic work for the club. I paid him for it, of course.”

“How does a painter become a bartender?” Goro asked then, digging into the curry on his plate, though his eyes stayed on Akira. 

“Our first bartender was an older guy. One night Yusuke wanted to check out my new club and focused on the bar instead. I gotta admit, it surprised us when he learned how to mix like it was his _third calling _or something. Older bartender taught him everything he knew and after a solid three months, he resigned, and Yusuke got the job.”

Akira had to take a sip of his water after the dialogue, and Ann had taken the chance to prod at him more.

“So you’ve been friends for _how_ many years now?”

“Four or five years, I think?” Akira shrugged. “I just know it was after I got out of high school.”

“_Man_, high school was a time. I met big, confident Goro here when I was in second year and he still had that _Detective Prince_ shtick going on. It was cute.”

“Ann, if you never met me while I had my ‘_Detective Prince shtick_’ going on, you would never have found your favourite crepe shop _now_.”

Ann sent Goro a playful glare as they sat across each other, and he and Suzui could only laugh when Goro smiled at her sweetly.

“Didn’t you mention that Ann and Suzui went to the same high school, by the way?” Akira asked, his tone set in curiosity. It was a chance to get information, without seeming _too_ out of the blue.

“We went to Shujin Academy together until Shiho had to move schools in the middle of second year.”

“I had some problems, and my mom was overreacting,” Suzui had finished, and it was as blatant of a lie as any, but Akira still nodded anyway.

“I went to Shujin, too, actually. Studied there from second year until I graduated.” Akira gave each of them a once-over, before letting his eyes fall to Ann.

“Actually, I remember there was a girl like Ann in my class. She sat in front of me but I never even talked to her, though I _did_ have a little crush on her because of her looks.”

“Do you still remember her name?” Goro asked, and Akira had to chuckle as he shook his head.

“Who even still remembers _anyone_ from high school? I bet you right now that none of you guys still remember _any_ of the faces of the people you didn’t talk to on a regular basis.”

They’d all laughed together for a brief moment, various degrees of embarrassment _and_ agreement apparent in the air.

“I’m curious, though,” Ann spoke up, “Why was that girl like me?”

“She was naturally blonde, too. People said she was a foreigner, which, for _some_ weird reason, made everyone avoid her, or gossip about her. It was fucked up.”

“Funny, same thing happened to me. I was an outcast because of how I look, but if it weren’t for Shiho, I would’ve been completely alone.”

“You guys.” All eyes turned to Goro then, who had the most _done_ expression contorted onto his features.

“Akira, when did you graduate?” he was suddenly asked, and he’d reply with an immediate, “Four years ago.”

“Ann, when did _you_ graduate?”

“Four years ago, too.”

“You two are idiots. Akira, Ann was the girl you sat behind; Ann, he’s talking about you. The parallels are _too_ obvious and I can’t believe you guys haven’t put two and two together yet, I’m _done_.”

Akira looked straight to Ann’s eyes then, and Ann returned the shocked stare.

“We say what class we were in on 3. Still remember?”

“I was in the last class of my year, of course I remember.”

Akira counted from 1 to 3, and the two of them blurted out,

“_Class 2-D!_”

Simultaneous gasps, and then Akira laughed— Which spread throughout the table quickly.

“Hey, it’s been like four years since I last saw you but hey there! I’m Akira Kurusu and I had a little crush on you back in second year!” Akira joked, his voice obnoxiously loud and playful. “I used to be the _delinquent_ everyone was so scared of, _hello_!”

“_Wait_ ohmygod, you were that _transfer student_! You were the guy everyone kept saying would pull a knife out on anyone, or whatever?” Ann half-shouted, shocked at her own revelation.

Akira and Ann had laughed harder together.

“_Yeah_ because I obviously _wasn’t_ just a really quiet kid that no one really noticed a lot! Thanks for remembering!”

“Oh my God, my sides hurt!”

“Akira was a _delinquent_?” Goro spoke up, lost in the conversation. Suzui was only quietly snickering.

It took a bit more minutes of a laughing fit and inside jokes between the two, but when their laughter had subsided and Akira was wiping off stray tears from the corner of his eye, he took a deep breath to calm himself down. A wide smile was still pulled up across his cheeks.

“_Life_, huh? You see each other for basically everyday for two years and you don’t even _recognise_ them after just a few more down the line when you meet again. What _comedy_ are we living in right now?”

“The comedy of _life_, my brother,” Ann responded. Akira chuckled once more.

“So let me get this straight.. You both have terrible memory,” Goro recounted, which really only made them burst into laughter again.

The night ended on a high note that day, when Akira had wished his guests off at the door after dinner. Only Goro had stayed back for a bit (dressed once more in his clubbing clothes from the night before) as Ann and Suzui already stepped down the stairs.

Akira closed the door behind him after he’d stepped outside, and would only lean lightly against the railing as he smiled at Goro.

“So..” he’d start.

“So,” the other would repeat. Akira could only chuckle a bit before he faced the sky. He inhaled deeply, a grin set on his cheeks.

“I want to thank you, for _everything_.”

“You know I wanted to help you, Goro.”

“_Yes_, but still.”

Akira lowered his face again, would simply stare at the man standing in front of him. He admired the way moonlight made Goro’s irises twinkle, or how his hair would curl inwards at the ends, after having only fixed it with his hands earlier. A breeze passed by their bodies, and Goro couldn’t hide the goosebumps racing up his arms, nor the shudder he’d let out, from Akira.

He was in and out of his apartment quickly after he’d told the man to stay put, only stepping outside again when he’d gotten a jacket from within his closet.

“Akira, I can’t. You’ve already done so much for me and—“

“Just take the damn jacket if you don’t want me walking you home with my arm around you the entire time,” Akira cut him off, a smirk rising up his cheeks immediately, almost as if on instinct. 

Whenever Goro flushed, Akira always found it pretty, always liked how the colour would tint his cheeks and leave him speechless, if only for a few seconds.

But Goro was quiet for _more_ than a few seconds. A full minute must have passed by with none but the brunette staring off to the side, to the wall of the building next to Akira’s apartment.

“And what if I say that I _don’t_ want to take the jacket?”

“Then I’d wrap it around you and walk you home, anyway.”

Akira held out the article towards Goro, an insistent smile on his lips. Goro would only accept it after staring down at the jacket for a few seconds, and Akira would watch the cogs turn in his head all the while.

“You’re seriously too nice,” Goro would mumble, right after he’d slipped into the article. Akira let out a hearty laugh.

“You mean I’m too _boyfriend material_?” he quoted. The instance with Futaba had somehow seemed _so_ long ago already, even though it was the same day just a week prior, when they’d first really _clicked_.

“I take it back. I meant to say that you’re too idiotic and stupid and that I never should have stepped foot into your club a year ago.”

“Your compliments are music to my ears, _please_ feel free to speak more.”

Goro snorted at him, and the two were at a silence again. Akira was looking at Goro, taking in as much as he could for the night, and Goro was but avoiding Akira’s eyes— which Akira found cute.

Goro coughed once.

“Ann and Shiho are probably waiting for me downstairs, so I should, uh.. I should _go_, yeah.”

_I don’t want you to go_.

“Be safe, okay? Stick to the crowds, avoid shady-looking places.”

“I don’t need you to dote on me like a baby,” Goro laughed.

_I want to take care of you, though_.

“I’ll see you next time?” Akira could only nod in response.

_Next time, huh?_

“Next time, _yeah_. Hopefully you’re not hungover next time." 

That earned him a laugh, before,

"_Bye_." 

"Bye.." 

Goro had looked him in the eyes then, right before he’d smiled and raised his hand to wave goodbye a bit. Akira shouldn’t believe his stupid head, shouldn’t really _hope_ for it, but as he watched Goro descend down the stairs (_slowly_, almost _regretfully_, Akira noted) he couldn’t help but think about the gaze Goro had gifted him.

Leaning over the railings on his forearms, Akira watched as the trio disappeared around the corner. In the back of his head, he would convince himself it was a trick of the light, the darkness playing games with his eyes, when he thought for just a _second_ that the look Goro gave him almost said,

_Don’t let me go_.

Akira would sigh, before looking up at the stars above his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY SO LIKE WHAT THE HECK I WROTE THIS FOR A SOLID 12 HOURS STRAIGHT BC ??? I LOVE THIS CHAPTER SO MUCH ??? H E L L O TH ERE  
WE HAVE  
-DOMESTIC SHUAKE  
-LOVING GAZES  
-M O N A APPROVING OF HIS NEW DAD.  
-"HONEY IM HOME"
> 
> I FUCKING LOVE THIS CHAPTER YOU GUYS
> 
> listen list !! (songs that got me through this chapter)  
persona 5 ost - beneath the mask  
we don't talk anymore (slowed) (remix)  
joji - windows  
joji - slow dancing in the dark  
la la land ost - the ones who dream  
jaymes young - stone  
wax atlantic - twenty odd  
angus and julia stone - santa monica dream  
sufjan stevens - mystery of love  
sufjan stevens - futile devices


	11. Track 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a date. (but not really.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey ! before you proceed, there are nier automata spoilers (i don't got the wrong fic i swear) down below at the ramen restaurant part. spoilers for route b and c !!

A full month had passed since Goro first came to Akira’s apartment, and strangely, he could still smell the faintest scent of booze and sweat on his pillows. Maybe it could’ve been the more than once times that he’d stopped by since then, the more than once times that Goro had stayed so late that he ended up falling asleep on the couch, after which Akira would bring him to his bed.  
The times Futaba was there with them, she’d always bring up more points in their constant debate between Goro Akechi liking _Akira Kurusu_, or Goro Akechi simply liking _Joker_, after Akira had shut his bedroom door closed with the man himself sleeping within. Futaba always seemed to have something to say after they hang out.

Goro had gotten to know his sister, and for that Akira was glad— both for Futaba having more friends _and_ for Goro knowing how amazing his sister actually is. More often than not, they’d find themselves either in Leblanc (where Futaba would bring a handheld console to show Goro a new game while they sipped coffee) or they’d spend the day lounging around Akira’s apartment, competing over the consoles he had there with the games he shared with Futaba while they laid over the couch. Goro was even granted the honour of being added in the group chat she, Akira, Ryuji, and Yusuke were part of.

Eventually, Ann and Shiho would find themselves in that group chat, too. Akira had made to introduce them to Ryuji, Futaba and (properly) to Yusuke when they’d showed up at Café Leblanc at the perfect moment one day in late-April, and from the updates Ryuji had been sending him, apparently he and Ann went even _farther_ back than he and the blonde did.

(Akira needn’t fear of his _Best Bro_ status being revoked, because Ann only faintly remembered Ryuji as the boy from middle school who owed her money.. Which Ryuji _did_ eventually pay, and made the rest of them laugh.)

Though the number of times all seven of them met up together in one place were few, he was still glad that his friends were coming together to form one big group. It warmed his heart seeing them talk to each other so animatedly, filling the silence of Leblanc (their go-to hangout spot) with lively chatter and laughter.

Since the dinner in his home, getting closer to Ann and Shiho had gotten surprisingly easier. Akira was even happy to say that they’d trusted him enough to come out as a couple to him, and of course, Akira had congratulated the two by the time their four-year anniversary had arrived. On that particular day, he could still recount the quiet afternoon he’d spent with Goro once more in Café Leblanc: only sitting idly, eyes closed, as he listened to Goro narrate the Robin Hood novel to him— One of those days when they’d only enjoy drinking in each others’ presences.

It was a peaceful time, something that Akira would later find only increased in number with every instance that he found Goro Akechi entering the café with a bag slung over him, looking for coffee and a quiet place to sit in the midst of life’s noise. Of course, he’d always welcome the man with a witty, cheesy one-liner, and afterwards his favourite blend.

After spending so much time with the man, Akira only found himself more drawn to Goro, more captivated by him— With every second they spent together, with every playful or snarky text, with every hint Goro dropped in regards to their _game_, and with every little piece of information he learned that completed the puzzle that was Goro Akechi.  
Akira had found out that Goro was quite a competitive person, that he would dive into a challenge presented to him with all of the confidence and bravado he had in himself (which explained _that_ night in The Metaverse); He’d found that Goro was mostly raised in foster home after foster home, after having lost his mother at a young age (he would always avoid talk of his father); He found that Goro would always grab his chin with his left hand (_oh_, and that Goro was left-handed) whenever he was thinking, and that he would sometimes purse his lips whenever he was trying to lie, or that Goro would bite his lip when he was nervous.

Little things, that Akira wouldn’t trade the world for.

Akira had already memorised how Goro liked his coffee, which food he liked and disliked, how he always brought a handkerchief around with him, how it’s like he would shift into a different persona whenever he was dancing, or whenever he was teaching dance— as Akira would later experience firsthand.

It was a regular Wednesday, and Akira had asked Sojiro a week before if he could end his shift at the café early that day, because he had an appointment to get to by two-thirty in the afternoon. Being the café-owner who couldn’t much run his café like before (because Akira had insisted on working more, for Sojiro’s poor back) he pretty much agreed almost immediately to letting Akira off _hours_ before he even actually should.

And that was how Akira ended up boarding the train back to his home, changing into something more _comfortable_ to move freely in (which was, a fake two-piece, white shirt with black sleeves coming from underneath its initial sleeves, along with black sweats and black and red sneakers— in lieu of the dress code for that particular class) before commuting to Shibuya.

Akira’s heart was giddy with excitement the entire way, evident in the bounce in his step and the smile raised on his cheeks as he walked around the heart of Shibuya. He already knew which way to turn and which building to go into to find Starlight Studios.

As he climbed the steps on the way there, he’d made to pull his phone from his back pocket. Goro was still on break— A little thing he learned after one of their (many) long conversations went to what their work schedules were.

* * *

**You (sent 14:15)  
isn’t your break going to end soon? shouldn’t the oh so punctual dance instructor be getting back to his studio? ;P**

**detective prince (sent 14:17)**  
**Ann and I didn’t leave the studio for break this time, haha. We just ate biscuits and refilled our water bottles in the break room because we’re close to ending the day anyway.**  
**(detective prince sent a sticker.)**

* * *

Akira would greet the receptionist at the front desk of the studio with a bright smile after he’d walked into the establishment, afterwards going back to his phone. The receptionist probably recognised him as the chatty, excited man from last week who signed up for a class— Particularly..

* * *

**You (sent 14:19)  
figures**

**You (sent 14:19)  
so.. you’re saving your appetite for dinner? should i expect you guys at leblanc? :D**

**detective prince (sent 14:20)  
It’s possible. Shiho might pick Ann up after our last class though so I MIGHT just be third-wheeling again.**

**detective prince (sent 14:21)  
Aren’t you my coffee king? Why aren’t you saving me from such a tragedy? >:(**

* * *

He already knew where Goro’s classroom (so to speak) would be at, and it was a quick turn down the hallway to the second door from the end before he caught sight of the brunette through glass doors. Goro was sat with his sweaty back to the wide mirrors of the practise room, head bent down, shoulders slugged forward, as he focused on his phone.

Akira couldn’t help it when his grin widened, seeing that a little smile decorated Goro’s handsome features then.

* * *

**You (sent 14:25)  
i mean**

**You (sent 14:25)  
look out the door**

* * *

Akira counted about five different emotions (namely, initial confusion, then shock, back to confusion _before_ realisation, to happiness, and finally, excited urgency) that raced through Goro’s eyes _alone _the moment he’d lifted his head. Through the transparent door, the DJ would flash his brightest smile at him, the hand not holding his phone waving eagerly.

The drum in Akira’s heart thumped quicker, _louder_, when Goro had shot up and raced towards him, as he noticed it always would whenever Goro approached him. With a single tug of the door handle to Goro’s side, they faced each other.

“Hey,” Akira greeted, casual.

“What are you doing here?”

Akira couldn’t help himself from chuckling at the amount of sheer confusion in Goro’s voice, though that didn’t betray the joy in the man’s red irises, as well as the _tiniest_ hint of hope underlying in his tone.

“Well _first of all_, this is a dance studio that offers lessons. So why do you think a DJ who can’t dance for _shit_ is possibly here, ace detective?”

Goro was quick to shoot back a retort, just as (if not, _more_) witty. The dancer had crossed his arms over his chest, weight leaning on one foot.

“Beginner’s lessons are on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Akira.”

_God_, Akira loved how confident his smile was, loved the _look_ in his eyes.

With a shift in his gaze and his lips pulling up just the _tiniest_ bit more, Akira’s grin morphed into an underhanded smirk as he stared right back at Goro.

“Really? I guess I signed up for the wrong class. After all, all I had my eye on was _Goro Akechi_ when I was looking over the schedules.”

A wink, and that earned him the pleasure of seeing Goro’s face heat up. He still looked defiant, despite so, and Akira couldn’t help but internally scream at how _attractive_ that was to him.

“You _do_ realise you’re going to attend a _masterclass_ in hip hop?” Goro challenged him with the sharp look in his eyes. “Think you can keep up? I have to warn you, learning from me is going to be _pretty hardcore_.”

Akira recognised the words, repeated from before the beginning of a round at Gigolo. Oh, how Goro Akechi was a sly, spiteful minx when he wanted to be.

“Is that a challenge?” Akira echoed.

Goro beckoned Akira into the room, their gazes locked with each step back Goro took and each step forward Akira made to maintain the small, _just_ comfortable enough as _friends_/teetering on revealing underlying sexual tension space between them (but maybe that was just Akira.)

They stood in the middle of the floor, in front of the mirrors, when Goro had spoken up again.

“It is.”

Akira heard multiple pairs of footsteps enter the room from behind him, just as Goro turned his back on Akira and took his spot at the front. When the flood of dancers had settled into the practise room, Akira made to discard his backpack at the back walls, before taking a spot near it at the corner.

His eyes and ears were all for none but Goro’s when the man began the class with a speech, and Akira had to listen as intently as he could. Usually the dance videos of him and his classes began right away with the choreography (and even _then_, Akira could clearly see the passion Goro danced with) but to hear him actually _talk_ about dancing, about how he wanted to spread the love and passion for the art of movement to his students— It was really only _then_ that it hit him how much of Goro’s life was, purely, _dance_; Like Akira’s life was, purely, music and danger, with coffee on the side.

He didn’t hesitate to clap after Goro had wrapped up his speech, and for a _second_, their eyes met. None but _honesty_ was nestled in Goro’s scarlet irises then, in the midst of a room filled with applause and little cheers. Akira felt the look sear itself into his heart.

When the class had actually begun, Akira thought that he _certainly_ overestimated the process of a dance class. Warming up had been fun, _familiar_ to him, though the stretching part was a bit (see: _way_ too) intimidating for his still-inflexible muscles. Still, it was (to sum it up) _interesting_ to see just how much Goro Akechi could bend forward and fold in half on himself.

Akira kinda liked that— Like a _lot_.

But he wouldn’t let himself get hard in a room full of strangers -1.

Akira would only watch when the dancers he was with parted like the Red _fucking_ Sea down the middle once Goro had announced that warm-up was done. Curiously, he’d listen to the whispers of other students as he made to scoot over to see what it was all about, wanting to see as much as possible when Goro jogged from the stereo system, pressed the play button on the player, before going over to the middle of the floor.

“What song do you think we’ll dance to?” one of the dancers beside him said.

“Twitter says it might be Beyoncé this week!” her friend responded.

When the first notes bounced into the air, Akira would shift his attention from them, to the brunette standing in the midst of the room, who’d begun swaying his hips, moving his arms, _losing himself_ to the beat, at the beginning of the song— The same song, as Akira _wholly realised_ was the same reggaeton one he’d played in his club at the incident he’d dubbed, _The Awakening of Confident Goro Akechi_.

_Holy shit, did he really make a fucking dance to Beyoncé._

“_He say my body stay wetter than the ocean, and he say that Creole in my body is like a potion—_“

Needless to say, Goro captured all eyes in the room (_especially_ Akira’s) when he’d begun dancing for _real_.

It was obvious from how Goro’s hands moved _alone_ that this dance was supposed to be all _confidence _and_ sex appeal_: Hands on his skin, one leg positioned as if beckoning, ass sticking out in the most _perfect_ way to emphasis its curve— Akira was most likely drooling already. Fucking _goddammit_, Goro was hot shit when he wanted to be.

“_Soon as I walk in, boys start they talkin’—_“ Akira watched Goro moved in time to the song, fascinated. “_Right as that booty sway, freeze—_“ then he stilled into a pose (fingers to his lips, chin tilted up as he looked to the class with hooded eyes) as the song silenced for a single _beat_.

“_Slay_.”

Akira’s jaw slackened just as Goro had dropped down on his spread legs, hands on his knees, smile just _teasing_ as he just as quickly hopped back up to keep dancing to the lyrics. The heightened cheers around them came secondhand to Akira as he pursed his lips, making to take in a _deep_ breath.

“_Say yeah, yeah, yeah— Uno, dos, tres, leggo—_“

By the time the instrumental chorus had come, Akira was caught in Goro’s gaze to him for just a _second_ as he made to spin— Though in that quick span of time, he already read what Goro wanted the dance to convey (_oh,_ how it was obvious by the way he emphasised his ass in the moves,) along with a little something Goro was saying to him, in his mind:

_Think you can keep up?_

Akira was being challenged, but at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel that those fucking _bedroom eyes_ weren’t just for the dance.

_Goro’s a confident shit when he’s dancing, Akira. Calm the **Hell** down_.

He needed to remember how to _breathe_, here.

When Goro had loosened his body as the dance ended, more claps and cheers and shouts were erupted from around Akira, and he himself didn’t hold back on giving the man a round of applause— Damn if that performance didn’t earn it.  
Though there was a wide smile on Goro’s cheeks as he bowed momentarily, the complete antithesis of his earlier, seductive smoulder. Akira was still a bit shocked all the same, but it was like a switch was flipped between ‘_Confident dancer_’ to ‘_Wholesome, passionate teacher_.’

Akira would have a whole-ass _time_ figuring out which to focus on for the rest of the class.

After Goro returned to his spot at the front, the rest of the dancers had gone back to their own spaces from earlier. Akira was still in the back corner of the room, but he could at least still see Goro through the windows of space the other students didn’t occupy— It was like an unspoken custom for them to position themselves like this, if only for the sake of the students at the back.

_Goro must always teach students like this_, he thought then, and a small smile had crept up from the corners of his lips.

Though watching the choreography made it intimidating for a non-dancer like Akira, he found that, while Goro was teaching them the step-by-step of things, it was broken down into easy-to-digest segments. Goro taught them how to move this and that, where to position this leg when this arm was here, the exact beat when to pause, and so on. It was a pleasant surprise to Akira when he’d been able to decently keep up learning the moves, though he knew for _sure_ that he wouldn’t look as good as the other, more _seasoned_ dancers in the room.

By the time the final rundown of the dance had come after the final step was taught, Akira was confident that he’d learned the moves in order, and it proved to be true as the music once again rang in the room. In his little corner at the back, he could move as freely as he wanted to, would smile at himself at the mirror whenever he caught glimpses of himself on it. Though his heart was pounding at the different kind of exercise, his muscles felt warm and he felt _good_, not dancing well be _damned_.

Then came the announcement.

“Okay, you guys are doing great! I need you all to get into groups of 3 to 5 for the assessment before we can take a break. We’ll be clearing the middle again for the groups to dance in.”

Okay.

Okay, _what_.

Akira didn’t _know_ that he’d have to dance at the front! That wasn’t in the plan! That was _never_ in the plan! He could dance in arcades without a care in the world but dancing in a room full of dancers who did this for a _living_, or who’ve done this for _years_— That was a _completely_ different ballpark.

So to say he was utterly _fucked_ (not in the good way) was an understatement. Besides, he didn’t even know any of the other dancers!

That was the biggest _oof_ he’d ever experienced thus far.

Still, he’d take in a deep breath. He’d try to calm down the potential storm racing in his head, and he’d look around. He needed to be calm and collected here, if he wanted to find a group he could dance with— That was better than dancing _solo_, at least. Plus, Akira wasn’t a man that couldn’t blend into new groups well.

Though many of them looked tightly-knit already, Akira still managed to find himself a group of four to dance with who’d welcomed him warmly after he’d said that it was his first time in a dance class. He found them after roaming the floor a bit (actually having to travel to the opposite corner of the room,) and they were happy to have him in their group.

“Oh! So does that mean you’re a fan of Akechi?” one of the girls (Rika, he’d learned) asked, “It’s not really recommended that you go to a masterclass as a beginner, but you must’ve really wanted to learn under him, huh?”

“We can’t really deny that Akechi is a good _teacher_ while being a good dancer. He’s been famous for years in competition circuits, too,” another girl (one with short, blonde hair, Sayoko) said.

Akira had read about it before, that Goro Akechi had competed in some national dance competitions. In retrospect, it was a bit dumb of him not to think that the dancers here could have been fans of the man prior to his job now.

“Yeah but it’s only a shame that he doesn’t dance competitively anymore,” one of their guys (Yuki) spoke up, now, to which their second man (a foreigner named Ian) responded.

“I mean, how do you balance teaching _and_ going to competitions? He’d have to take a couple months off teaching if he wanted to compete again.”

Akira should read more about these competitions, and actually _watch_ the videos there were. He had no doubt that Goro was a good dancer but there was a growing bud of curiosity in Akira that wanted to find out what he was like in his competition days.

“Are you all ready?” 

He and his group would look to the front then, right as Goro had spoken up. _Was _he ready?

Absolutely not, but he was given a challenge and he’d be _damned_ if he backed out now just because he had to perform up front. Akira _loved_ performing up front when he DJs, it was going to be _easy_.

He could do this— if not for _him_, then to play along with Goro’s challenge. He just had to put on that confident mask again and dance like he was trying to get Goro hard.

“Nice, okay. Let’s start from the group at the end to my right then go along.”

But did Goro really have to pick _his_ group to go first? Akira caught that tiny _sliver_ of mischief and smugness in Goro’s red eyes as he’d looked to them, hidden beneath the bright smile he wore.

“Care to begin for us?”

Akira would only _subtly_ glare at the man as he’ strode to the middle of the floor with his group.

_You’re on, Goro Akechi._

It wasn’t a surprise to him that the people he was dancing with were _GOOD_ in big, capital letters. Akira, positioned at the back of their arrow end-shaped formation, would have a full view of Rika, Sayoko, Yuki and Ian hitting the moves, dancing on beat, and generally being _amazing dancers_. Colour him very impressed.

Though Akira didn’t do as well as them, he did his damn best trying to seduce Goro, anyway, with but the look in his eyes, the curve of his lips, and the tongue he’d sometimes dart out at a particularly sexy move. If he couldn’t dance for shit, he’d at least work with what he had.

Fortunately for Akira, it semi-worked— Though the stare Goro focused on him _could_ just be Goro being an observant teacher.

By the time they’d finished the choreography, Goro would give each of them hints at what they could improve on. When he’d gotten to Akira, all he said was,

“I get the passion, Kurusu, but you still need to work on execution a bit, okay?”

Honestly, he expected worse. Akira would take what he could get.

After nodding, Akira would only go back to his previous spot beside his backpack (after thanking the group he’d danced with, of course.)  
He’d sit against the walls, only watching the other dancers with a water bottle in his hand— Though he would never deny his eyes from going to Goro Akechi, instead.

Akira would find himself staring at _only_ Goro for the rest of the rundown of the groups, and by the time their teacher had announced the start of a ten-minute break, he was quick to pull his phone out from within his bag.

* * *

**You (sent 15:28)  
you are EVIL.**

* * *

A response came quickly, and Akira would only briefly glance up to where Goro sat earlier. He found the man standing there, holding his phone with one hand again as the other lifted a bottle of water to his lips.

* * *

**detective prince (sent 15:29)**  
**I warned you.**  
**(detective prince sent a sticker.)**

**You (sent 15:29)  
ok but did you really have to make my group go first?**

**detective prince (sent 15:29)  
I always have that group go first. :P**

**You (sent 15:30)  
evil, i say!**

**detective prince (sent 15:30)  
Admitting defeat already? I thought you never back down without a fight.**

**You (sent 15:30)  
i’m NOT, thank you very much**

**detective prince (sent 15:31)  
I have to say, you kept up better than I thought.**

**detective prince (sent 15:31)  
So those muscles aren’t just for show, after all.**

**You (sent 15:31)  
is it just me or are you sounding a little more thirsty than usual ;)**

**You (sent 15:32)  
where’s the bathroom at this place, maybe i’ll send you a special picture ;))**

* * *

Akira would chance a glance up, looking at Goro from across the room. He wasn’t even _hiding_ how he glared at Akira, to which, he’d only offer a bright smile as if unaware.

* * *

**detective prince (sent 15:34)  
This conversation is over.**

**You (sent 15:34)  
i’m finding that bathroom sooner or later goro akechi**

**detective prince (sent 15:34)  
GOODBYE_._**

* * *

Akira would chuckle, and the rest of their time during break went uneventful afterwards. When the final rundown of the choreography had come, he’d only dance freely in his little corner; When the camera had come and Goro was in the middle of a group he’d handpicked, he’d only watch and cheer from the sides. Even after seeing Goro dance the choreography more than once, there was still a sort of thrill that made Akira’s heart race, made his chest feel warm, as the brunette had performed it once more.

There was always a smile on Goro’s face when he danced, be it cheerful, or seductive, or even melancholic, at times. Akira would find that in each of his dance videos, he’d always set his face in tone with the dance he performed, as if he were an actor without words. The amount of things Goro could convey with nothing but his body was astounding to Akira, and it was no wonder to him, then as he watched Goro dance to his choreography of seduction and teasing, that he’d always be captured in an allure only _Goro_ seemed to possess.

There was a hitch in Akira’s breathing when Goro, at one point in his dance, threw off his jacket from his shoulders. It was then that he caught full sight of his toned and lean biceps from the red tank top he wore, no doubt strong not only from his dancing and working out, but also from bouldering.

_God_, his muscles were so nice, though.

After filming a few more groups of dancers (Akira opted out of that,) the class had soon come to an end. He made to take his time packing up his things as Goro had been swarmed by dancers, taking pictures with them, receiving words of praise from them, and such. The brunette must’ve known that Akira was specifically _slow_ just so that he’d be the last one in the room, though, aside from Goro— It was apparent to him when he heard Goro’s voice come up from his back.

“You’re taking an awfully long time getting a water bottle into a bag.”

“Well, there were a lot of people who wanted to talk to you.”

Akira slung his backpack up against his back as he stood, now only coming to face Goro. The smile on his cheeks was wide and toothy, but that didn’t betray the fond look in his eyes as he looked at the brunette.

“You know you’re an amazing dancer?” he said, and it was less a question, more a compliment. Akira didn’t miss the millimetre Goro’s own smile widened as he nodded.

“Well, I’ve been told before, yes. Any plans now?”

“Actually, I—“

“Goro! You done with class yet?”

Both he and Goro had turned to the door then, at the sound of Ann’s voice interrupting Akira. She was standing there, a water bottle in hand as she held open the entrance to peer her head inside. There was visible surprise written on her face when she’d set her bright eyes on Akira, hard to miss.

“Oh hey! What are you doing here, Akira?”

Akira would only smile and wave at her as Goro replied, “He took a class.”

Ann took a look at the brunette then with slightly-widened eyes, before her gaze shifted to Akira and she laughed. She stayed on her spot by the door though her smile stretched wider, and from where he stood, Akira could see Shiho from beyond the glass.

“Did you manage to keep up?”

“Surprisingly, with my lame DJ body, I did,” Akira chuckled. He felt Goro’s gaze on him then, just _knew_ he was looking at him with the most incredulous eyes. Goro knew he was bluffing, and Akira liked that _only_ Goro knew what was actually under his shirt.

“Cool, cool.. Listen, me and Shiho are heading out to dinner. You guys wanna join in, or..?”

Silence lingered between them for a beat, and then _two_. It was like they wanted to answer with different, unsure responses in regards to what the other would want, though not a word rang into the air. After a bit, Akira would only chance a brief glance at Goro (who’d coincidentally looked to him, as well) before he shook his head.

“I actually just asked Goro out to dinner. You guys can go enjoy your date, I got him.”

Ann’s eyes brightened with delight as she nodded, almost _too_ fervently.

“Nice, okay! You guys have fun, too! See you at home, Goro!”

And then she was gone, and the door was closed. Akira only waved at Shiho when she’d peeked through the glass door before they left.

He’d turn to Goro then, a big smile on his cheeks. It was obvious that Akira was unapologetic about it.

“I guess you’re stuck with me for tonight. How’s ramen sound?”

* * *

“I still can’t believe you actually just took a dance class.”

“How are you still surprised by the shit I do?”

Goro would stare him down, one hand holding his chopsticks, the other lifting his bowl. They sat across each other at a booth at the far back of a ramen restaurant Akira picked out in Ogikubo, different from his usual spot with Ryuji. They’d commuted there together, talking the entire way until they’d arrived. It only paused, it seemed, when they’d asked for their orders.

But conversation continued again, and Goro (once again, for the third time already) brought up Akira taking his class. He honestly found it cute that Goro was so hungover that.

“It’s just— You’re _Akira_, who’s always lazing around on the couch, too lazy to even get up and get a glass of water!”

Akira gave him a happy little smile, bright and cheerful.

“The video game’s not going to finish itself,” he’d reply, tone matter-of-factly, “Besides, you’re always the one getting up and walking around in the middle of a game anyway. Even _Mona_ doesn’t know where to sit on the floor now, whenever you do that.”

An exasperated slurp of his noodles. Akira still smiled at him, either way.

“How do you manage to sit for such a _long_ time, though?”

“The power of the mind can make many things possible, Goro. Also, I wanna know what happens to 9S and A2 next in Route C.”

“YoRHa is gone, 2B is dead and 9S is pretty much still alive, but his mental state is _definitely_ going to go off the rails. 2B was basically everything to him and seeing A2 kill her with her own sword made him vow to hunt every _single_ machine down and _then_ A2. Who _wouldn’t_ slowly but surely go into a descent into madness after that? The _real_ question we ask tonight is, will he be able to eventually achieve his goal, including killing off A2?”

Akira would only watch Goro as he spoke, lips to the rim of his bowl after he’d taken a sip of the broth. He had to enjoy his ramen _now_, because this was but a telltale sign of another one of their notorious debates/discussions/conversations about.. _things_— Many things, a _lot_ of things, _various _other things, and that included video games.

Nier: Automata was apparently the thing they’ve debated about the most, up until that point, in regards to games since Akira had begun a playthrough two weeks ago.

“I think 9S _might_ be able to recover himself. Who knows? Maybe 2B makes a comeback, maybe he’ll somehow, someday find a new purpose aside from killing, or maybe 2B left a last message to help 9S or something. A2 has to watch her back but she can probably handle 9S by herself, pretty easily even. I mean, she’s a _combat model_ judging by how similar to 2B her design is, and 9S is just a _scanner model_. I say 9S can still be reasonable enough to know that he can’t wipe out _every_ machine off Earth, too.”

“Okay, first of all, 9S _may_ just be a scanner model, but I think you’ve forgotten he can easily hack into YoRHa unit systems and deal as _much_ damage from the inside instead of external force. Also 9S literally witnessed 2B—and this is the _same_ 2B he’s spent a _lot_ of time with, who he’s nigh _obsessed_ with—get _killed_ before his own eyes. He knows who the killer is, he knows that he can get her, die trying or not. Do you even realise how much he’s changed since waking up?”

Akira would internally sob, mourning the loss of his _sweet, pure boy_; In contrast, Goro seemed to be more engaged in 9S now that he’d lost 2B.

It was cruel, really.

“Okay, he’s become _edgier_ since waking up without 2B but does that really mean he doesn’t have any hope anymore? That he can’t get back up on his feet? If androids really do try to become like humans, there’s still a chance that 9S learns how to recover from loss. Devola and Popola can help him mourn, even _Anemone_ or _Jackass_ can probably help him, too. Friends exist, y’know.”

“That’s the thing! We don’t know if they’ve experienced as big or as tragic of a loss that 9S has gone through. That boy is dead-set on killing off every machine lifeform _and_ A2 and nothing is stopping him: not Pod, not A2, and probably not even friends. The _only_ person that can help him is dead and won’t come back. You don’t spend that much time building up a death scene without _committing_ to it, and Yoko Taro’s definitely going to commit to it.”

There was a silence that befell them for just a bit, in favour of eating their dinner before it got cold. After Akira had slurped up some of his noodles, he’d only look up at Goro’s eyes again. There was a certainty that reflected off his black irises, as he said, with a straight face and an even voice,

“Rules can be broken.”

Goro only laughed.

“Of course you’d say that, you hopeless optimist.”

* * *

Akira had held off shooting back another response in regards to their mini-debate in the ramen restaurant, if only for the sake of dinner at least. They’d concluded, though, that the night was young— and maybe Ann and Shiho were occupying the apartment, or maybe Futaba could handle babysitting Mona for a bit longer with Akira’s wifi and consoles all to herself, and maybe they just (really) didn’t want to part ways yet.

So, together, they’d travelled to Inokashira Park.

The breeze that night was cool, though pleasant. At that time, there were but a few people wandering the park, same as them, here and there. With the few lampposts they passed as they strolled through the area, Akira and Goro enjoyed the view of stars dotting the dark blanket of the sky above their heads. The lights of the city buildings seemed far away in the midst of the trees that surrounded them, or maybe it was just that Akira’s gaze was fixated on Goro the entire way.

Goro would hum after a bit of walking, his jacket zipped up closed in front of his chest due to the chill.

“You know I still have that shirt you lent me last week?”

“And my jacket, _and_ my other shirt, and..” Akira would trail off, though a grin decorated his features. Goro only playfully glared at him— But they both knew how many clothes Goro _actually_ had in his home that was Akira’s.

They’d reached a bench again at that point, so Akira would only sit down on one side. Goro sat beside him. Their shoulders were touching just _barely_ in that line between the boundary of _friends_ and _intimate friends_.

“I was thinking that the next time we hang out at your place, I’d bring them over. I just want to know when you’re free again.”

Akira hummed for a bit, his schedule circling his mind. Wednesdays were still free until June since they’d wrapped up the Watanabe case two weeks ago, so Wednesdays were his days off for two _more_ weeks, at the least.

“I don’t have a shift at Leblanc on Thursdays, as usual, but I still have to run the club at night. Wednesdays are really the only days I’m free for pretty much the entire day, so I’d at least be there if you _happen_ to just _fall asleep_ again.” Giant airquotes at his emphasised words.

Grinning at him, Akira would poke Goro’s cheek. He knew it annoyed the brunette, and that just made it even _more_ tempting to do on a constant basis.

“I’ve fallen asleep at your apartment—!” Goro began, voice rising. Akira only cut him off with a matter-of-factly tone to his quip.

“About more than ten times already!”

“_Not_ even close.”

“Your cologne on my sheets argue otherwise.”

His grin widened. The furrow of Goro’s brows were _too_ funny.

“That’s because you don’t even wash your sheets that often,” Goro would retort, a bit of a grumble in his tone. “Are you admitting to actually _sniffing_ for my scent now?”

Akira shifted in his seat, one leg crossing over the other. Inconspicuously, he’d rest his arms over the bench and leaned _just_ a bit closer to Goro.  
Goro probably already recognised the glint in Akira’s eyes already, because he’d made to pull back— Though it wasn’t enough to really do _anything_ for them.

“You’ve slept in my bed so much that your scent in the _first_ thing I wake up to.”

“Akira, stop fake-flirting, come on,” Goro would only say with a close of his eyes, calm. It seemed that he truly _was_ over Akira’s constant flirting now.

_It’s not fake, Goro_.

“_Alright_, okay.” Akira withdrew again, now leaning back into the bench. “Anyway, I got a new one for you.”

He already knew what Akira meant by those words— Their game continued.

“Hm? Shoot.”

“His favourite colour is red. I’m not sure, though.”

Goro peered at him, a brow raised.

“You’re saying that though you don’t actually know for sure? How can you even say it’s his favourite colour?”

“He always has something _red_ on him. _Always_.” Akira chanced a look at the red outlines on Goro’s jacket, to the red sneakers he wore, thought back to the deep red of his tank top underneath.

And then he thought of his muscles again, and Akira would shift his gaze to a faraway tree with his teeth nibbling at the inside of his lip. 

“That so, huh?”

Silence, and then,

“I think his favourite colour might be black. He’s never told me before if it is, but he’s always wearing _something_ that’s that colour. Besides, a smug, overly-confident asshat like him probably likes the colour of his hair and eyes too much.. Though I myself can’t stop liking that about him, too..”

“That why you always look at me?” Akira tried, a lopsided grin creeping up his cheeks. His teeth showed as he made to tilt his head to look up at Goro.

“It’s because you always have something on your face and you never realise it.”

Akira felt the sudden need to rub at his cheek then. Wait, did he _really_? He heard Goro’s laugh.

“Don’t worry, it flew off an hour ago.”

Black eyes met red eyes, and their gazes held. Akira’s were painted in both incredulity and curiosity, while Goro’s were cheeky.

Though more than a month had already passed since the beginning of their game, it’d continued still. In the times they’d text or talk to each other, Akira could paint a vague picture of the man Goro apparently had a massive crush on.

Black eyes and black hair, just like his (a common trait in Japan); A smug, flirty, funny personality who was confident in himself (Akira wasn’t _that_ confident in himself); Someone who owned a cat (Lots of people owned a cat); Wore glasses (Akira didn’t _always_ wear his glasses); Was responsible judging by the numerous homely habits Goro described (Akira referred to the “never washing his sheets that often” comment); Someone whose work schedule lasted _well_ into the night (Japan was a country that overworked its citizens, honestly), and someone Goro saw often. Honestly, Akira wondered how many times Goro met up with that someone before and/or after _they_ hung out.

It stung just a _teensy, tiny_ bit in his heart.

Hopefully, he’d been just vague _enough_ to keep having Goro on his toes about _his_ crush. But at the same time? Sometimes Akira just wanted to _tell him_, outright, wanted to just get it out in the open, wanted Goro to just _know_ already.

But then the more rational part of his head that liked Goro’s friendship and casual company too much argued that it’d ruin the thing that they had going right now. There was really too _much_ at stake if he told Goro, between Goro accepting his crush, or _begrudgingly_ accepting his crush and having the air around them at a constant awkwardness from then on.

Akira didn’t want that. He just wanted to keep Goro in his life.

He heaved a sigh.

“Do you ever just.. Wanna tell him that you like him?” he’d blurt, though his voice was quiet. Why was he even bringing this up with the same man he wanted (so_ badly_) to confess to?

“Always.”

Akira’s eyes darted from the ground, to Goro, after he’d responded so _surely_, so _quickly_. With just a look of his eyes, he poked Goro to continue.

“Sometimes, when we’re texting each other late into the night, I find myself typing out those three, simple, little words. I could never bring myself to send the text but it frustrates me to no end that I can’t just _tell him_, or that idiot just can’t _get the hint_ already.”

Goro would end his little spiel with a huff, deep and emphasised by the hand that made to grab his temple.

“He’s such a dumb, cute, stupid, _idiot_ and I can’t help that I like him because he’s so.. so _AUGH_!”

After simply staring at Goro for a bit, Akira found himself chuckling, and then _laughing_. Why did it sound _just _like his thoughts? How was it that his (so incredibly oblivious and dumb) crush resonated with his sentiments _exactly_? Love was a weird thing.

When Akira hadn’t finished with his laughing fit yet, face to the skies, laughter echoing throughout the night’s air, Goro spoke up again.

“What’s so funny _now_? Did you just think of a stupid joke again and you’re trying to tell me? Akira, you need to actually _breathe in_ and _calm down_ first before you tell me, and _then_ we laugh.”

“No, it’s just—“ Akira rubbed at one eye with the heel of his hand, inhaling and exhaling deeply as he tried to settle down. “You just said what’s on my mind word by _word_, it’s hilarious. Do you have mind-reading powers, or something? It’s like you went into my head and just said what I was thinking.”

Goro blinked once, and then twice— and after then he’d begun laughing, too. Together, in the quiet of Inokashira, they’d laughed under the night sky and the realisation that they’re both _fools _in love with _fools_.

Though Akira wouldn’t think that he was the fool Goro could possibly love.

The rest of their time in Inokashira was spent only leaning back and looking up at the stars, with Goro of course pointing out which constellation was which. Akira would only _sometimes_ glance up at the stars, but the majority of his little star-gazing session was spent watching the starlight bounce off of Goro’s eyes.

* * *

It was maybe around 9:30 PM when they’d stumbled off the train going to Yongen-jaya, only laughing together and talking and just _enjoying_ themselves with each other as they’d walked to Goro’s apartment complex. Taking the train would be quicker and cheaper than boarding a bus, as Goro had explained earlier.

Besides, Akira had a feeling that Goro just wanted to take the longer way around to get home.

“I’ve woken up to Mona laying on my face _hundreds_ of times now and I’m not even exaggerating— And you say he’s only done that to you like, _three _times so far? It’s unfair.”

“Accept the fact that Mona likes me better than you,” Goro laughed, pulling Akira to the corner then.

Up ahead, Akira saw apartment complexes sitting beside each other. In the back of his head, he wondered which was Goro’s and Ann’s, though he mainly focused on keeping conversation with Goro as much as he could, as _long_ as he could.

“I was the one that lived with him for _years_, though!”

“I was the one that gave him good patting sessions.”

Akira _pouted_ at him, his bottom lip pushed out with a look feigning _hurt_ in his eyes as they walked.

“Would it satisfy you if I say that I like _you_ better than I like _your cat_?”

He nodded, _eagerly._

“Say it, come on. My ears are all yours.”

_And my eyes. And my heart. And my soul and being— fuck, just **take all of me**._

Akira would pause as Goro had stopped in front of a building, this one painted white and about five (?) storeys high. Balconies lined the windows of every floor.

“I like Akira Kurusu better than I like Mona Kurusu. Happy?”

“_Delighted_.” It sounded sarcastic, but Akira was happy— _Very_ happy.

“So is this your place? Will I finally be able to raid _your_ kitchen now, instead of the other way around?” he joked, laughing a bit. There was naught but the sound of a dog barking somewhere off in the distance.

“There isn’t anything you’ll like right now but we could have dinner sometime?”

“Dinner sounds amazing.” Akira nodded. “I’ll bring dessert! I know pancakes are a breakfast thing, but..”

Goro met his eyes.

“Rules can be broken, right?” Goro echoed, a perfect, little smile curling up at the corners of his lips. Akira only nodded again.

“Exactly. I’ll see you tomorrow? Leblanc is open and a handsome barista just so happens to have the shift there.”

A wink, to which Goro only rolled his eyes.

“Well I hope that _handsome barista_ is ready for the conflict in my Robin Hood novel. Things are getting _intense_.”

Akira would only offer him a chuckle.

“I’ll hold you to that then.”

“Thanks for today.”

“It was my pleasure. I like hanging out with you.”

My, the sound of that dog barking only got a _bit_ closer, just a little bit louder— Or was it the growing silence between them?

Akira’s eyes never left Goro’s.

“Travel back safe, okay? Goodnight, Akira.”

“Sleep well. Goodnight, Goro.”

* * *

The entire commute to Shinjuku had Akira Kurusu just _beaming_ with giddiness. He wouldn’t even deny it to himself anymore when he realised that it was Goro that did that to him, lifting his mood up every single time they’d be together, leaving that warmth in Akira’s chest even after they’d parted ways.

There was just the _slightest_ bounce in his step, the grin stretched wide brightening his features as he walked through the paths of the red light district. He’d wave at Chihaya when he passed, smile up at the neon sign at Crossroads, and would only make his way home with his hands in his pockets and a grin on his cheeks.

What he wouldn’t exactly expect, though, was the woman lingering around outside his building. She was just _standing_ there, pressing against a lamppost facing The Metaverse. Though her face was hidden by the shadows of a hat sitting on the crown of her head, Akira already had a clue as to who it was.

Curiously, _casually_, he strolled up to the woman cloaked in a dark coat, so _obviously_ trying to remain inconspicuous despite missing the point _entirely_. 

“Officer Nijima. Does there seem to be a problem with my club?”

Akira saw those _cold_, red eyes stare back at him as he’d come to a stop a fair four feet away from her, standing between her form, and the building of his club. Even under her hat, the frown set upon the woman’s lips was hard to miss.

“There were some reports of noise coming from your building.”

“It’s.. a _club_..?” 

“Your club in particular is closed on Wednesdays, am I correct?”

That _stare_, the one that Makoto Nijima always seemed to have permanently set in her eyes—the one that just looked at him as if he were _beneath_ her— Akira couldn’t exactly say he fancied it. Still, he kept his nerves (kept himself looking like a vulnerable, innocent club-owner) as he nodded.

“It may be my sister. She sometimes screams a lot when she plays video games. Gamers, y’know?”

Akira would’ve tried to laugh, tried to shrug it off, but after encounter upon encounter with the police officer, it seemed nigh impossible to do. The woman had an iron grip on following the law.

“Moreover, judging by your attire, aren’t you off-duty right now, Officer Nijima? Why would an off-duty officer be investigating noise complaints at this time of night?”

That got her. Akira saw the woman’s shoulders tense just _slightly_, and he knew she was trying to hide it. A big, strong officer shouldn’t look intimidated, after all.

“I was in the area.” She adjusted her hat to further cover her features. “If that’s all, then I’ll be taking my leave, Mister Kurusu. Have a good night.”

Akira would only watch her retreating figure go down the street where he’d come from. As he stared at her back, he’d find himself glaring at it.

Makoto Nijima has been suspicious of him for years now, and he’d always been careful to be wary around the officer. Even in high school, she seemed to look over him _just_ a bit more than she eyed everyone else. It could have been that he was the notorious transfer student with two charges to his name, or it could have been that he was the last student to come into the Phys. Ed. faculty office before Kamoshida’s arrest. Either way, he’d always feel a cold stare passing by Makoto Nijima in the halls of school, and it never relented even after he’d graduated.

Akira only made to go up to his apartment a few minutes after Nijima had turned the corner. He pressed his code in, left his shoes at the door, and would turn to see an empty living room, the consoles and TV turned off, and neither Mona nor Futaba anywhere in sight. Morgana hadn’t come since they’d wrapped up the case and gotten their evidence to Ohya and the police.

It was the usual thing— Futaba sent emails to the CEO and _all_ the clients listed on the files they’d found, warning them about the fate that was going to befall their lives. As always, they left one option open: Confess, or be at their mercy. With nothing three days later, they sent out the proof of their claims.

Two _more_ days after that, news had come out about Watanabe and co.’s arrests, uncredited as always.

But their group never cared about the fame, never really wanted their personas known. All they wanted was justice, rightful and true. Akira was happy enough that those people were getting the judgment they deserved.

That all happened _just_ before May had begun, and now that two weeks had passed, news about Watanabe and his treatment of the company’s idols still hadn’t faded from spotlight. It only served him right.

Though Futaba would still come to his apartment on Wednesdays, if not for hanging out with him and Goro, then for Mona— Mona was basically the family cat, after all, and Akira would never take Futaba away from their pet.

Just before Akira would head off to his bed, exhausted after the day’s events, he’d make to go down the hallway to the left of his bedroom door and peer inside the only door on the left— Futaba’s bedroom.

Cracking the door open just _slightly_, poking his head inside the dark room, he’d look around the glow-in-the-dark stars plastered all over the walls and furniture, the soft, faint glow of neon lights stuck here and there— All until his eyes landed on Futaba’s mop of orange hair in the corner, the woman splayed atop her green covers on the bed. Mona was fast asleep, just as his sister was, laying on her stomach.

After a fond smile, Akira would but click the door shut before heading into the bathroom as quietly as he could. He took a quick shower to wash off the sweat and grime of the day, and after he’d stretched upwards stepping out of the shower with a towel around his hips, he’d all but stare at himself in the mirror.

He was tired, but there still remained warmth in his eyes. Goro after-effects, he’d chuckle about.

Akira went to his bedroom afterwards. As he sat on the edge of his mattress, pulling on a sleeping shirt after he’d tugged on green sweats, he would only look to his phone buzzing _once_ on the nightstand.

It would no doubt be no one else but the person Akira had in mind, who’d be texting him at _this_ hour.

* * *

**detective prince (sent 22:22)  
Did you get home safe?**

* * *

Akira smiled.

_Knew it._

* * *

**You (sent 22:24)  
yeah.**

**You (sent 22:24)  
did you get up to your apartment without tripping or something?**

**detective prince (sent 22:25)  
For your information, I have been accident-free on those stairs for over a month now. Proud of me yet?**

**You (sent 22:25)  
VERY proud. good job! <3 <3**

**detective prince (sent 22:25)  
THANK YOU. Finally SOMEONE appreciates my effort.**

* * *

That earned a laugh out of Akira as he’d gotten up to switch off the lights in his bedroom, only crashing onto his bed after he’d padded back to it. He plucked his phone off the nightstand again, careful not to tug the charger off it.

* * *

**You (sent 22:27)  
i always appreciate you, o dearest detective prince <3 <3 <3**

**You (sent 22:28)  
you in bed yet? i’m EXHAUSTED because your class is tiring as FUCK**

**detective prince (sent 22:29)  
Told you.**

**detective prince (sent 22:29)  
Don’t count it as a loss. You actually impressed me by how easily you learn things and how you could even keep up with how physical things can get.**

**You (sent 22:29)  
oh i could get even more physical than that ;)**

**detective prince (sent 22:30)  
You should prove it to me sometime.**

**detective prince (sent 22:30)  
(detective prince sent a sticker.)**

**You (sent 22:31)  
it’s cute that YOU of all people try to flirt like that <3**

**detective prince (sent 22:31)  
JUST cute?**

**detective prince (sent 22:33)  
(detective prince sent a photo.)**

* * *

“Goro Akechi, you sexy, confident shit.”

Akira was smirking under the covers, running his eyes over _every_ detail he could make out of the picture— Goro, with two fingers placed inside his mouth through loosely-parted lips, sitting right above his tongue. His eyes were half-lidded with a faint haze of (fake?) lust clouded over his irises, his hair a tousled mess (in a hot way) and the collar of the grey sweater he wore just dipping _enough_ to his right shoulder to reveal his collarbone.

But Akira couldn’t focus on anything _but_ those fingers on that tongue.

Goro definitely incited more of a reaction out of Akira than he probably thought when he sent this picture.

* * *

**You (sent 22:35)  
JUST cute. you’re a pure cutie. 9s should take notes.**

**detective prince (sent 22:36)  
Y’know what? I’ll take it.**

**detective prince (sent 22:37)  
Anyway, go to sleep already. I’m tired.**

* * *

Akira could practically _hear_ the whine in Goro’s voice.

* * *

**You (sent 22:38)  
ALRIGHT, you can get to bed. i have ONE more thing to do before i sleep.**

**detective prince (sent 22:39)  
Which is..?**

**You (sent 22:39)  
goodnight sweet detective prince! <3**

* * *

Akira was left on read. He was half-glad for it when he’d reached over to the bottom drawer of his nightstand and plucked out a bottle from deep within as he’d scrolled back up to the picture.

Unplugging his charger from his phone (for another 40 minutes, maybe) he’d lay on his back, the picture of Goro in full view, as he’d roamed a hand down four inches past his navel.

“_Goro_..”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COUGH LMAO HEY I WARNED TWITTER ABOUT THAT T I N Y LIL BIT OF THIRST THERE AND I D E L I V E R LMAO
> 
> yes we fast-forward to one month in the future, because we don't really need to see that one month of stuff
> 
> i enjoyed writing this chapter. v enjoyable now that we have less-shy goro and more thirst. i l ov e.
> 
> listen list !! (songs that got me through this chapter)  
bts - fake love  
persona 5 ost - beneath the mask  
kalyna rakel - so removed  
stefflon don - 16 shots  
j balvin, willy william (ft. beyonce) - mi gente (*goro's choreo song)  
sufjan stevens - mystery of love


	12. Track 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> recounting the moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE OBLIGATORY FILLER CHAPTER AFTER A TIMESKIP LMAO  
IMPORTANT NEWS AT THE END NOTES BUT OTHERWISE E N J O Y !!

“Okay. _Goro Akechi_.”

Goro sat on one end of the couch, blankets all nestled up around him. Ann, his best friend in the world (who he loved very _dearly_) sat on the opposite end, staring at him with a hardened look in her eyes.

It seemed as if interrogation time was upon them as Goro pulled up his legs to his chest, the volume of the TV turned down into a faint background noise from just two feet to his right, stationed beside the windows of their apartment. From beyond the glass panes, only the darkness of night loomed, along with the lights of buildings near and far.

“Yes, Ann?” Goro would speak up, voice set in an innocence that was both _genuine_ while being, somehow, _sly_. From the pit of his stomach, he already knew what Ann wanted to know in regards to the situation she’d come home to all but a few minutes prior.

“Can you tell me _how_ exactly you two ended up like this?”

There was a curiosity that laced Ann’s tone, but more than anything, it was the type of curiosity that was more reminiscent of a detective prying at answers. He knew she meant well, but he also knew that maybe he and Akira were just a _tiny bit_ too close together earlier, on the living room couch: completely _alone_ before Ann arrived from her date with Shiho (which they’ve been having a _lot_ more of lately, since Goro and Akira spent so much time together.)

It would be just a _bit_ curious how they came to that position, he supposed.

Goro would only sit up against the armrest he previously laid back on.

“What do you mean?”

Really, she had to specify. It was too broad of a question for Goro to have a good answer to— Or one she would even be satisfied with. Ann only made to heave in a deep breath through her nostrils.

“I _mean_,” Ann began, eyes sharp as she looked at Goro, “How do you end up cuddling on the couch watching a movie together after just over one month of being, and this is in _your_ words, ‘_strictly friends_?’ I want the _complete_, no-details-left-out answer.”

Oh, how suddenly interesting the wall was. Goro’s eyes wouldn’t stop staring at it, or he’d have to face Ann with his cheeks shaded pink. She was already painfully aware of his crush towards Akira, but still, it _may_ have been a bit embarrassing (and too jarring) to just tell her that they were suddenly, completely _fine_ with skinship now. Maybe he should tell her their gradual climb to intimate comfort first.

So he should recount the times here, sort through the interactions and hours he’s spent with Akira Kurusu— Of which, to say was _many_ was an understatement.

Goro would turn his head to the hallway, only peering to the door of the bathroom, closed and locked. He’d have to be quick about this if he didn’t want Akira snooping in on their conversation all of a sudden. That man was as silent as a cat, at times, and it was _freaky_.

“It could have started the second time I went to his apartment?” Goro tried after letting his gaze fall back on his friend. Ann looked as if she were pondering the suggestion, a finger to her bottom lip as she stared up at the ceiling. It was her habit, whenever she thought into things.

But ah, yes. That day Goro willingly went to Akira’s home _sober_, by the man’s own invite. That was certainly a time— One that Goro would probably never forget.

* * *

“Akechi, hey! Welcome to game night!”

It was but over a week after Goro had first spent the day at Akira’s apartment, before he’d found himself there once again. Stepping into the living room familiar to him from hazy, hungover memories, his eyes took in the off-white, creamy beige colour of the walls; the kitchen to his right; the living room on his left, and the girl with bright, orange hair sitting up and waving at him with a controller in her hand from the dark upholstery of the sofa.

Two days before that Wednesday evening that Goro stood in Akira’s home, he was invited over for dinner and games with him and Futaba. Goro, after having just finished a whole day of classes, hurried to shower in the studio’s showers and slip into a fresh change of clothes before he was met with the pleasant surprise of Akira Kurusu picking him up at the studio lobby.

To say that commuting by the trains with Akira was an _experience_, would be the best he could describe it. Though rush hour hadn’t exactly come upon them yet, Goro still couldn’t help that he pressed chest-to-chest with Akira as they stood in one of the vehicle’s carts. He would’ve backed off, if not for the mass of people around them and the lack of free seats— Goro was just glad at that moment that he opted to shower and change, else he’d smell _disgusting_ while being so close to Akira.

But he’d survived despite the racing of his heart and the flush set upon his cheeks. When they’d arrived at Shinjuku Station, it was just a quick walk through alleyways and passages (most Goro didn’t know _existed_, but Akira assured him that they were just shortcuts he knew) before they’d climbed the stairs to his home.

Futaba was as energetic as he’d remembered her from their only meeting in Café Leblanc, and Goro found that it was only _tripled_ when she was playing video games. Though he wasn’t much of a gamer himself, he still sat beside her on the couch after Akira insisted on them playing together as he set the table for dinner. With a controller in his hand and a few instructions from Futaba, they played a co-op game.

It was remarkable how Futaba gave directions and orders, as if she were a navigator or a guide as they went through the map of the game together. Later on, he’d find that it was because she’d beaten the game twice already, but there was still a hint of professionalism when she’d guided him along, as if she were one of those competitive e-sports team leaders.

Over dinner, they talked about the game and Goro praised her extensive knowledge on easter eggs and hidden, exclusive weapons. She took his words in pride, though Akira made to challenge the woman (who he learned was actually already 21 years old already despite her 5’2” stature) to a round against him.

Once the three of them were settled on the couch, Goro found just how _terrifying_ sibling rivalry was.

Curses were thrown, middle fingers were raised, and taunts were yelled— All while Goro honestly didn’t know who to root for.  
He sat between the two, his eyes darting from Futaba, to the TV, to Akira, and it was a repeating cycle. After hours upon _hours _of passing the controllers between who lost the last round, Goro would eventually find himself dozing off once they’d changed games.

Come Thursday morning, instead of being splayed over the couch with his back aching, he awoke to the smell of fabric conditioner and coffee on bedsheets— A _heavily_ familiar thing.

_That_, and a warm body pressing against his back along with arms circling his stomach.

Akira, over breakfast, told him that he carried Goro to his bed before he and Futaba kept playing. Once they, too, were struck with the tug of slumber, Akira had apparently simply crashed onto the other side of the mattress and fell asleep near-immediately. Goro could remember clearly how the redhead sitting across Akira at the table would just _stare_ at her brother with a pensive look in her eyes as she ate cereal, and it was something Goro couldn’t quite decipher.

* * *

“I mean, you two slept in the same bed. He just cuddled you a little, right? Akira didn’t do anything to make you uncomfortable?” The worry was still evident in Ann’s voice, only increasing with each question she asked. Her eyes reflected concern as she looked at her best friend.

Goro nodded fervently, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip a bit.

“He didn’t touch me any other way. I would have woken up if he did, so he didn’t do anything I was against. I trust his word.”

“Right, right..” Ann trailed, a finger now scratching idly at her palm, “So that was point A. Any idea when it started escalating to point B?”

_Point B.. Point B.._

Goro had to search his memories for the point where they’d gotten closer, intimately. Since that time he hung out with Futaba and Akira, it was all basically at the same level: be it sitting close next to each other or suddenly just waking up in Akira’s bed with the man himself there, too. It wasn’t even _every time_ that Akira would unconsciously cuddle him.

(Sometimes it was Goro that did the cuddling.)

“It could have been that time I stayed in Leblanc until closing hours?” Goro would speak up again, pushing the rest of his thoughts to the back of his mind. He didn’t need his face getting any warmer than it already was.

“Elaborate, please.”

“_Well_..”

On the 3rd of May, Goro remembered going to Leblanc to read his book with a cup of his favourite coffee. Though he’d come there in the afternoon (when it was _definitely_ too sunny) he wouldn’t leave until past closing hours.

Why?

Because, by the will of some random God that wanted to pick on Goro Akechi, it started to rain. _Heavily_.

* * *

“_The castle walls were high, rough all around, but nothing could stop Robin Hood from attaining his greatest prize yet. It was going to be the greatest of his achievements should he attain success of spreading the spoils of a corrupted monarchy, and nothing would—_“

Goro would only stop reading, would only suddenly pause, when he heard the telltale sound of showers washing overhead from clouds high above. Outside the window, the bright day had quickly turned dim, and instead of dry air, rain poured onto the streets, splattered onto the windows, and made Goro quickly realise that it was _storming_.

Sitting in his regular booth directly in front of the little kitchen in Café Leblanc, he’d only turn his head to look over his shoulder and watch the rain fall beyond the windows. Goro wasn’t much _confused_ as he was _distraught_: After all, the weather forecast wouldn’t always be right, and though the sky earlier boasted of naught but white clouds and sunshine, that still didn’t change the fact that he left his umbrella at home.

Of course, it didn’t seem like the rain would stop anytime soon, too.

With a heavy sigh heaving from his chest, Goro could only do nothing but turn back to look at Akira, who’d been sitting across from him the entire time he began reading his book. No one else but them occupied the café. The barista would only look at Goro with raised brows, silently prodding at him about the internal dilemma spelled in Goro’s eyes.

With a sip of his coffee, he’d sigh again.

“I don’t suppose you have a spare umbrella here?” Goro would only ask, almost _bitterly_, and it was all that Akira needed to sound out an extended, “_Oh_..”

As it turned out, even Akira didn’t bring an umbrella with him, which meant that they were both trapped in Leblanc until further notice. After looking to the wall clock near Sayuri (more than once) time passed rather quickly, though the rain only progressed. What was supposed to be a simple afternoon as always in the café turned to camping out in there as they waited for the storm to at _least_ weaken.

It didn’t. For another _four hours_. Though he was with Akira, four hours sitting in one space wasn’t exactly the most _entertaining_ of things.

By hour one, Goro had read through a considerable amount of his book and had drank his second coffee.

By hour two, he and Akira resorted to closing the novel and simply talking more about their week over curry (which just became their dinner.) It should also be noted that Akira had already flipped the sign of the café from _Open_ to _Closed_ at that point.

By hour _three_, Goro didn’t want to risk caffeine overdose and had then pulled up his legs to his chest on the couch of their booth. His arms wrapped around himself, his hands rubbing up and down his sleeves. The clothes he wore that day weren’t exactly fit for cold weather, seeing as he’d left the house when it was still good and dry.

The waiting game was getting to Goro’s head, so he only opted to opening his novel again. With each page he read over, though, he’d only find himself fidgeting and shivering more and more.

“Is this rain”—a chill-induced shudder spilled from his lips—“going to last all _night_?”

Akira, who’d been laying on the entire length of the opposite couch, only shrugged. It only startled Goro when the man suddenly sprung up to a sitting position then, a bright look in his eyes as he turned to him.

“Come on, let’s go upstairs.”

Goro couldn’t help the sputtered, “_What_?!” his voice rang.  
He followed the man up the crickety stairs anyway, because Goro Akechi was either incredibly _naïve_, or incredibly _too_ infatuated with Akira.

Maybe it was _both_.

As it turned out, ‘_upstairs_’ was naught but the café’s attic.  
But it didn’t look or _feel_ like an attic— Instead, it was more like a bedroom with the mattress in the corner, shelves filled with old books next to it, the desk on the other corner of the room, and the couch next to a table where an old TV sat. It was surprisingly clean, as well. Up there, the sound of raindrops pattering against the ceiling was only louder.

Goro didn’t mind it, though.

Akira had insisted that Goro have the blanket from his makeshift bed (because apparently this was the very same attic Akira had lived in when he first got to Tokyo) once they’d settled on the couch together. Though he was grateful, he still spread it over Akira’s shoulders before re-opening his novel.

For another hour, they pressed against each other as they read the book together. The old TV would stay on, though only as background noise as Goro narrated each scene. The entire time, he knew Akira’s eyes were on him without even needing to look.

Goro would dismiss it as for the sake of keeping warm and entertained, though a portion of his brain still found it romantic nonetheless.

* * *

“Voluntary cuddling?”

“It wasn’t even _cuddling_, it was more like sharing a blanket because it was _cold_.”

Ann would nod, if only for the sake of agreeing to disagree. There was still a glint in her eyes that was apparent to Goro that she still thought of it as more than just sitting together.

When it really _was_ just that. Akira probably didn’t think it was any semblance of _romantic_, anyway.

“So that’s why you two were having a cuddle session while watching Ghibli..?” Ann would ask after a bit. Goro glanced over to their TV, where the end credits were already rolling.

“We wanted to watch movies,” he’d reason, a shrug added to finalise the point. It was just a casual night after dinner wanting to hang out more, was that such a big deal?

She squinted at him, a perfectly-plucked brow raised.

“Uh-huh, with _cuddling_.” Her voice oozed incredulity.

“Who can sit in one position for an entire movie?”

Ann crossed her arms over her chest, a grin creeping up her cheeks.

“Okay, so tell me how sitting turned to laying on top of each other.”

It really wasn’t even anything special.

Ann had been gone since late morning for a day with Shiho, and hadn’t come back yet by the time Akira arrived at the door with two tupperwares of pancakes— blueberry, like last time. It was the night of their planned dinner together, a night as enjoyable as all the dinners that Goro has had with the man.

It didn’t seem like there would ever be anything they _couldn’t_ talk about, or that they would ever run out of conversation topics. Throughout a dinner that Goro _tried_ to cook to the quality of Akira’s cooking, they would converse about the songs Akira was in the process of producing, or the dances Goro was piecing together— there were tales of Goro’s bouldering, and even stories behind the plants Goro grew out in the balcony; then, there were stories about Akira and Futaba’s antics, Akira’s high school life, that time he made an entire song from listening to the pattering of raindrops on the roof.  
There were jokes (very stupid) and there was fake-flirting (the usual among them at this point.) There were playful kicks under the table and stolen blueberries from pancakes, laughs in the air, and even quiet times with but the sound of utensils against bowls and quick glances taken at each other.

After they cleaned up once dinner was finished (Akira helped out drying off the dishes after Goro was done washing them) Akira was quick to suggest a movie marathon— because they _both _knew that just dinner couldn’t be how they spent the night together. They played rock, paper, scissors to decide who’d choose the first movie, and Goro had won.

First was a detective movie, and after then, an action movie. Goro asked Akira what _he_ wanted to watch next, and they settled on Howl’s Moving Castle. After then, Goro wanted to finally be educated on animated films (mostly Ghibli films) and the night continued.

The lights were off in the entire apartment, nothing but the sound of the TV echoing throughout the cold space. Goro was engulfed in the world of magicians and witches and stolen hearts.

He didn’t know _when_ exactly it started, but in the beginning, he and Akira were simply sitting beside each other on the floor after Goro took out spare blankets and extra pillows. At some point, Akira had climbed up to the couch to lay across it— At another point, Goro pushed his legs aside so he could sit on the cushions.

By the time they were in their fifth movie, Goro’s head was laying on top of Akira’s chest, their legs entangled together, with a blanket above them. Their stares (at least, Goro’s was) set on the TV as animated cats sprung up on their hind legs. It didn’t even bother Goro that he was so close to Akira at that point, though his heart still thumped in his chest.

The movie mostly took their proximity off his mind, though, to which he was grateful for.

Besides, why fret over being so close to your friend (who you coincidentally had a _major_ crush on) when you can swoon over how cool Baron Humbert Von Gikkingen was? Exactly.

It was really only near the end of the movie did they hear keys jingling and the _click_ of the front door’s lock come undone before it swung open, Ann’s familiar voice calling out an “_I’m home!_” to Goro. Their heads lifted at the same time to look at Ann then, and the woman’s expression painted as _much_ surprise as theirs did when she caught sight of Goro’s hands on Akira’s chest— for the sake of lifting himself up and peer over the sofa to her, of course.

They looked _compromising_, even Goro had to admit that much: Tousled hair, wrinkled clothes, bodies pressed together (willingly) under a shared blanket. It didn’t really seem much of what one-month-long friends did, did it?

And thus, took them to the present. Akira had excused himself to the bathroom shortly after Ann arrived and Goro was sat with the same blanket wrapped around his frame as Ann drilled him on _juicy details_.

“That’s basically it, I _promise_,” Goro would finish, arms only pulling the blankets closer to him. It already smelled like Akira, and that was _unfair_. “Just _dinner_ and _movies_.”

Ann’s stare never left Goro as he recounted their times together, and after his tales, she would simply hum lowly. He saw the cogs turning in her head, knew that she was evaluating the situations and what it all meant.

Goro was a bit scared of her verdict.

“Y’know, if you told all of that to someone who didn’t know you two, they’d say you were dating.”

A squawk left Goro’s lips. He saw it coming from a _mile_ away, but the vocalisation of it was jarring to him, like a sort of finalisation that it was, indeed, a _possibility_ that existed. He and Akira were just _friends_, after all, but he had to be realistic here— because Ann was right.

Cuddling, sleeping in the same bed more than occasionally, being so intimately _close_ to each other (add all of that to their texts and faux-flirting) wholly made it seem like they were a _couple_, instead of the ‘_strictly friends_’ Goro would insist they were. Was it just because it felt so _natural_ to do those things with Akira? It never bothered either of them to do what they did, never really seemed like a problem or a breach in bounds whenever their skin pressed against each other or they’d shoot flirts and send certain _pictures _to get the other flustered.

It just all felt so _nice_ and _welcomed_ being so openly-affectionate, but was Akira like this with all his friends, or was Goro an exception? Was Goro just overthinking this? He felt that he _should_ give their relationship some thought but at the same time, he didn’t want any answers— He just wanted to enjoy it, just wanted to keep going as they did because it was so _casual_ and he didn’t have to worry about it.

What did Akira even think of Goro, though? His friend? His friend who he could _mess with_ by fake-flirting— Or has Akira already figured out that Goro liked him and was just seeing how far along he could string Goro? It wouldn’t be the first time that he was wrong about people, after all, but _Akira Kurusu_?

No, he couldn’t rule Akira out—he _shouldn’t_—but the man just seemed so genuinely kind and caring and so _real_ that Goro wanted him to be the exception to the scrutiny and bitter distrust he put _all_ of the men he liked under.

Goro tasted iron on his tongue. He’d gnawed on his bottom lip so hard he’d drawn blood again. Ann’s voice brought him back from the depths of his mind.

“Goro? Are you alright?”

He shook his head. Ann would see through his bluff the moment he tried to lie to her and nod instead.

“You’re right,” he’d only mumble, legs now up to his chest as he hugged them, “What we do.. It’s not what _just friends_ do, is it?”

An arm wrapped around him, Ann having scooted closer to pull him into an open embrace. Goro only let her when she pressed her temple to his, only listened silently when her quiet voice reached his ears. Ann always knew the right things to say to him, at times like these.

“Goro.. It really _isn’t_, y’know? Even if you guys were just close, touchy friends, you can’t say it’s what just friends do anymore. You need to know where you stand with him now, because if you don’t, I _know_ you’re going to start expecting more from him. You’re going to do that thing where you trick yourself into believing that you’re in an established relationship again and you self-sabotage your own happiness. If this is going to continue, you need to find out why he’s even doing this in the first place.”

**_Fuck_**_, that’s hard to swallow_.

“You need to know if this is just a game to him or not. I don’t want you having another repeat of what happened last time.”

Goro closed his eyes. He’d drawn in a deep breath as he let Ann’s words sink into his brain, would find himself watching bad memories like films with his mind’s eye the more he thought of what she’d said. In his chest, he felt the familiar ache of revisiting the events of years past— like a dull knife prodding at his heart, digging deeper and twisting with each moment he remembered.  
Removing himself from his first relationship was hard, only left him in a state where he _craved_ romantic affection again or even just someone to _be_ with. It only turned to desperation before he’d found another boy who supposedly _loved him_, who showered him with all the praise and affection he _needed _while slowly isolating him from the few friends he had and the things that made him happy— all for the sake of their _love _and what his ex-boyfriend thought was the best for _them_. 

Goro only broke up with him when Ann had to force him to.

The third time he was in a “relationship,” they were never official, but it started off as a situation much like the one he had with Akira.  
They were friends—_intimately_-close friends—and Goro had been deprived of romantic love and touch for over a year already. He was entirely too _eager_ to accept the narrative he built in his head, the fantasy and delusions of “_he loves me_” whenever they’d so much as sit next to each other closely. It’d continued for five months before Goro’s heart was shattered when that friend told him he’d found a girl he was absolutely _head over heels_ for.

Even though they weren’t even a couple.

Maybe two and a half years were still too _early_ for Goro to start making the right decisions. Maybe the pain hadn’t completely beaten his heart up yet or educated his brain on what to look out for, or how to tell apart an honest man from someone who’d use his body as a means to an end, or someone who just viewed him as a _friend_. The _only_ healthy relationship he’d even known about was Ann and Shiho, but was that even enough to be a benchmark for where to start? The signs were the most confusing thing to tell apart.

Goro could only let out a low whine from his throat, half his face already buried beneath the blanket, the smell of coffee on the fabric filling his nostrils. His voice was just above the volume of a whisper.

“I just like Akira so _much_, Ann..”

He felt her hand rub up and down his back, her tone gentle and careful as she responded, “I know, gummy bear.. He’s not a bad guy, but we need to find out what he really wants out of this, okay?”

A groan.

“Okay..”

He heard the door to the bathroom open. Goro had to take in a deep breath, ready to slip a mask of a smile onto his face when he’d lifted his head from the blankets.

“Hey, I’m back and ready to explain the _masterpiece_ that is Spirited Away.”

Akira’s voice was so.. _nice_— So extremely pleasant and lighthearted with the warmth of the sun and the sweetness of honey. He’d always have a sort of melodic cadence to his tone, brought only from singing or being in the know of music, and Goro found it _addicting_ in a way that he didn’t know was possible.

He would gladly listen to Akira’s rambles, be victim to his oh-so-cheesy, terrible puns and pick-up lines, if only for the sake of hearing him speak. Was it possible to be in love with a voice? Goro was leaning towards _yes_.

More than anything, Akira’s voice brought comfort to Goro, soothed him and his thoughts like a cold balm over burns.

Goro couldn’t tell if the smile he flashed up at the man was fake or not. Glancing at Ann, she was looking at Akira, too, as he made to sit beside on her previous spot at the end of the couch.

“Aside from that, I have news,” Akira said, excitement high on his tone as he plucked his phone from the coffee table. After a few taps here and there, he showed them the screen.

It displayed a website labelled ‘Ultra Japan.’ Goro was intrigued as he scanned the page with his eyes. 

“Ultra Japan is a live DJ music festival happening over a weekend right here in Tokyo, and _I_,”—Akira emphasised, proud—“have been invited as one of the performers.”

Ann gasped beside him— Goro only blurting out a “_Really?!_” after his eyes lit up and a smile blew wide on his features. Akira would nod at them, lips turned up into a smug grin.

“Yes, yes, praise my skills. I love it,” he invited, confident and cocky as ever. Goro made to lightly punch his arm after reaching out over the distance separating them, to which they’d all laugh together.

“That’s great, Akira!” Ann would say.

“Yeah, good job on getting scouted!”

The congratulations apparently counted as praises, because Akira would only theatrically spread his arms with his palms facing the ceiling, as if to welcome more compliments. Goro chuckled at him.

“The reason why I’m telling you this four months before it actually starts,” he’d start up again, “Is because the people running Ultra Japan are giving me free tickets for whoever I wanna invite. I wanna invite you guys and Shiho, if that’s fine.”

Ann began nodding with an eagerness that rivalled the energy of a puppy then, right up to the point of being invited. Goro would only bob his head once, too, but he had to ask.

“Will Ryuji and Yusuke be there? I know Futaba’s not used to big crowds, but..”

Akira only shook his head.

“I tried inviting them already but they still have things to do. Ryuji and his mom are apparently planning on a trip to the country to visit relatives, and Yusuke is busy doing his thesis work. I don’t wanna force Futaba out there into giant mosh pits but she’s going to watch a livestream.”

Both Ann and Goro let out low hums, only nodding in understanding.

How was Futaba going to watch a livestream of an event that charged tickets, though? Goro decided to file it away to the back of his head, for questions to ask Futaba the next time he saw her.

“If you’re inviting us, then I’d say we can come,” Goro mused.

“We can clear our weekend classes for it! Where’s it at, anyway?”

Akira would type on his phone as he replied, “I’m sending you guys the site and the details. I’ll give you guys the tickets as soon as I get them, that cool?”

Goro watched as Ann pulled out her phone from her purse, only placing his chin on her shoulder to peer at the screen.

“The second weekend of September, huh? I think I’ve heard of where Odaiba Ultra is, too, so we can look for hotels near the area! Do you want to room with us or are the festival people supplying you guys with rooms already?”

Akira set his phone back down on the table as he smiled at them.

“They booked us hotel rooms but do you really think I’m not going to sneak out and hang with you guys? Ann, I _know_ you’re going to bring hard alcohol already.”

Ann had that sly grin on her cheeks as she looked at him. The unspoken truth rang loudly in the air.

“Besides, if it’s an opportunity to see Goro drunk up close and personal, I’m _down_,” Akira finalised, eyes darting to Goro, his teeth showing through the grin he wore.

Goro threw a pillow at him.

“You not going to see me drunk in a million years, I _swear_!”

Akira caught the pillow with _ease_, only using it to shield himself when Goro had armed himself with another one. His sweet laugh spilled into the air, Goro all but starting to swat him with the cushion as a grin of his own fought up his cheeks.

Though what he and Ann had talked about still remained looming in the back of his head, Goro wanted to enjoy the moment, wanted to indulge himself in just a _bit_ more happiness as he began chasing Akira around the small space of their apartment with a pillow in his hands. Faintly, he’d hear Ann’s camera take pictures of them as she laughed along to their antics.

_Next time_, Goro would tell himself, _I’ll ask him about it next time we’re alone_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi !! at this point, we're nearly 1/3 chapters into the outline i planned out for m&m !! yay !!  
but like i said at the start, i have n e w s for y'all
> 
> the next semester is going to start for me come 17th of june, so updates will go from 2 updates a week to one update a week by then. even before that, i think that updates may come slower even as early as n o w because of laptop-ownership problems with my dad so o o f  
do not f r e t though i'm going to do my damnest to write as much as i can in the time i have the laptop i work on, as well as during the school year, too. i post updates on how the chapters are coming along on my twitter, @relictionism, so if you wanna know approximately w h e n a chapter is going to get done try visiting that
> 
> thanks for keeping up with the story ?? THANKS FOR EVEN READING IN GENERAL ?? YOU GUYS ARE THE B O M B. THANK YOU !
> 
> listen list !! (songs that got me through this wholesome ass chapter)  
angus and julia stone - santa monica dream  
betty who - right here  
allay, narrow skies & skyline dive - last speck of light  
eden - say something  
eden - catch me if you can  
eden - times like these


	13. Track 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in pursuit of the truth.

“Humour me a little bit.”

His voice was even, calm, almost _casual_— But they both knew that Goro Akechi, in that exact moment and the moments leading up to that point, was anything _but_.

Akira could tell you every single detail of that day with vivid description: what every brush of wind against his cheeks felt like, how the distant noise of traffic sounded off far away, the leftover taste of cake and coffee stuck to his lips like a fading lipstick, the slow creak of the swing he sat on as he rocked back and forth— The mesmerising way Goro’s ruby-red irises reflected the dimming light of twilight as they looked straight at him.

Inokashira Park was strangely (though somehow typically) quiet that day. Was it because they were in a playground, not the main area? Were there just not as many people there at the time they decided to talk? Was it just in Akira’s head? Goro had been more nervous around him than usual, more fidgety. Even at the start of their little day around town, the brunette had been chewing on his bottom lip as if it were a lifeline.

He could only quietly sympathise with Goro— After all, who wouldn’t be anxious at the prospect of (not even _possibly_, more like _definitely_) changing the nature of one’s relationship with someone?

In the very back of Akira’s head, he already knew it was what would go down. From Goro’s invitation to go out, to how he’d more than once tried bringing up _something_ before backing out completely (it was really too obvious) Akira had long braced himself for the inevitable shift in their relationship once the very conversation he dreaded would begin.

Though _braced_, he wasn’t _ready_.

That voice recording Futaba made him hear the other day after the dinner was all the proof he needed to determine it, all the evidence that made Futaba hit him over the head after the declaration that she’d been right all along. When she told him all those years ago that bugging all of his phones was important for emergency situations, he’d just let Futaba do it— He just never realised ‘_emergencies_’ presided over what Goro Akechi thought of him, too.  
But then again, Futaba was exactly the type of girl who would use the information she could (and would) gather to prove her point.

And so, brought them there: Sat next to each other on swings in Inokashira’s mostly-abandoned playground as dusk began to settle in and the cold of night slowly crept towards them. Akira didn’t realise his grip had begun tightening on the metal chains that held his swing up to the frame, until he’d taken a moment to breathe and look to the horizon painted with hues of oranges and reds. He couldn’t look at Goro: if not to give the man an easier time to talk, then to hide his own insecurities.

“What do you want me to ‘_humour you_’ about?”

There was a pause. The seconds ticked away at snail’s pace, feeling more like _minutes_ in Akira’s perspective than mere clumps of milliseconds. In his anticipation, his heart began to thump heavily against his ribcage, though it felt more like the muscle was stuck in his throat instead.

Would Goro fault him if he lost his voice later, or if it trembled and he couldn’t find the words?

“Akira,” Goro began again. Just the sound of his name on the brunette’s tongue alone made his pulse dance in triple-time. “Do you think..”

Akira chanced a brief glance at Goro then. Goro’s eyes were planted on the ground between their feet, reflecting an uncertainty tenfold of what his voice gave away.

“Do you ever think that our hang outs feel like dates, sometimes?”

There it was, finally, after five attempts at getting it out— He counted them throughout the day.

But Akira’s breath still hitched, his mind suddenly _blanked_. Though he’d expected a question along the lines of the one Goro asked, a few seconds (or even a few _days_ thinking about it and what he could say) weren’t at all enough for him to form an answer that could be just _good enough_.  
What could he even respond with? Should he crack a joke? Take it seriously? What did Goro _want_ to hear? What could he say not to trip over the careful balancing act of being the _flirty friend_ while having a desperate crush on Goro that he didn’t want to admit yet?

That was important to him, but above all, Akira decided that it wasn’t as important as making Goro feel safe.

_“You need to know if this is just a game to him or not. I don’t want you having another repeat of what happened last time.”_

That “_last time_” thing had been bothering him the most these past few days— whatever it was, though, Akira didn’t want to be a repeat of it.

In the end, he would only settled with, “Well, do _you_?”

When in doubt, try to turn it around. He could see how Goro feels about it all, first.  
But then again, maybe that just left his feelings more vulnerable and out in the open after the man’s detective teachings surged back into his head.

_Deflection confirms it. Fuck._

Akira wouldn’t dare try looking at Goro with the suspiciously visible regret in his eyes. He heard the familiar _creak_ of the swings beside him, only assuming that Goro pushed his feet on the dirt just strong enough to rock himself forwards and back.

“Honestly? I thought about it. Sometimes they do.”

He felt those red eyes train on him.

The DJ supposed he didn’t really hold back on that part a lot of the time. Be it at Leblanc, to the park, to his home, to a nice restaurant, Akira had been and spent so much time with none but Goro at each place, talking, _flirting_ (under the guise of it being _fake _and friendly) and sometimes even just staring at Goro with an admiration so clearly present in his eyes that it was a surprise that Goro hadn’t yet figured out just how _much_ Akira was attracted to him.

Akira would always say it was just “_hanging out_,” but the reality of it all was that he couldn’t help how he himself sometimes set it up to be date-esque, subconsciously or not.

“Did today feel like a date?” Akira would ask, his tone only spelling curiosity. Oh, how he wanted to inquire with hope, though.

Their gazes connected.

“Today was..” 

* * *

It was Goro’s idea to even invite Akira out that day. He shouldn’t be so _nervous_, but he was— Because today would _finally_ be the day he would force himself to ask Akira what he thought of him.  
The concept was easy to grasp, the plan (and multiple other backups) already laid out in his head; It was the _execution_ of said plans that was the elusive part.

They’d agreed to meet at the station in Yongen-jaya at noon, but before so Goro already felt his knees want to give in, felt a tug within his core that told him to _run_. When he saw Akira’s face among the crowds in front of the station, with a giant smile solely for Goro lighting up his handsome features, the feeling only worsened.

He’d probably fuck it up somewhere along the way. He’d probably word it too strongly or come off as too obvious, but _fuck_ if he just didn’t want to have some sort of closure. Goro would never be able to enjoy Akira’s warmth the next time they would somehow find themselves entangled with each other, if he didn’t find out _now_.

That is, if there would even _be_ a next time.

The thought only made the beast that was Goro’s anxiety claw at his thoughts more.

On the train ride to Shibuya, Goro was sitting next to Akira as their shoulders pressed together. Though they were quiet (not wanting to disturb the other commuters with their noise) he was already _trembling_ at the scenarios running through his head, already picking apart the words to look for the best possible sentence to _casually_ (with big emphasis on _casually_) bring it up and ask.

That was attempt one. Attempt one ended with Goro not even having the courage to open his mouth at least _once_. He only hoped the train’s movement excused his shaking for physics doing its job with each careful turn the vehicle made on the tracks.

They were walking along Central Street when Akira decided to speak up first between the two of them.

“I’ve been really excited to check this cat café out. Thanks for inviting me.”

He could only respond with a wordless, too-eager nod, eyes wide with thinly-veiled alarm.

And again, they were quiet.

Goro wanted to ask already—to get it _over with_—but his head was a broken record that couldn’t think of more than “_uhm’s_” and “_so’s_.” They wouldn’t work, and probably wouldn’t lead to him articulating it well.  
In the end, it was a wordless stroll through the street as Goro did naught but avoided looking _directly_ at Akira and fumbled with his fingers.

At least the cats calmed his mind a bit.

Sitting at a circular table beside the windows of the newly-opened cat café in Central Street, Goro opted to only watch the various kittens and grown cats run about the floor of the business. The walls were white with but thin, pink stripes and black cat silhouettes running down the wallpaper, while the floor was wooden and littered with multiple, fluffy and pastel pink rugs that were arranged to resemble a big cat’s paw. Lining the walls were multiple cat trees (on which, _more_ cats nestled in) and the tables were placed closer to the walls for enough playing space in the middle.

The aesthetics and the rambunctious felines took his thoughts less on stressing over Akira, and more on how _cute_ everything was. It was only when they’d gotten their cakes and coffees did Goro try to make conversation at last.

“I already love this place,” he admitted, a smile on his face as he stared down at the latte art drawn onto his drink.

Of course, it was the face of a cartoonish cat with wide whiskers and a big smile on its face.  
Looking back up to Akira, Goro didn’t even try to stop himself from letting out a quiet laugh— Akira greatly resembled the drawing on his coffee to the T, though minus the whiskers. Where did he get that cat-ear headband?

“_Nya!_” Akira meowed. His lips were curved up into that smile that showed his teeth, revealed his playful nature. The black headband with soft-looking faux cat ears blended well into the curls of his hair, and the topper of it all was that he’d curled his hands inwards delicately (as if mimicking a cat’s paw) and held them up beside his tilted head. Maybe Akira was trying _too_ hard (or not even trying at _all_) to be _cutesy_, but it definitely brought a wide smile on Goro’s cheeks either way.

Goro was snickering, trying to keep his voice down— Akira _really_ wasn’t making it any easier.

“If I make it convincing enough maybe I can pass as an overgrown cat and stay behind and live here forever with all the kitties.”

Goro snorted. Playing along with Akira’s antics came second nature to him at this point.

“Amazing plan, Akira. Absolutely _foolproof_. Should I stop by Leblanc and tell Boss his best barista ran away to be one with the cats?”

Akira’s smile was sly as he dug a fork into his cake, coquettish in the way that was oh so _Akira_ in nature. Goro loved seeing it.

“You _could_—“ Akira’s eyes angled up to Goro then, a piece of cake simply ghosting over his lips. Like a switch, his smile turned flirty and suggestive. “But you could also just adopt me and take me home and spoil me like I’m _your_ good little kitty. I promise I’ll keep your lap warm and I’ll clean up all the messes I make on your bed.”

The many implications just made Goro try and hide behind his mug as he took a sip. His cheeks already felt warm and he sure as _Hell_ knew it wasn’t the coffee— The wink Akira sent him didn’t exactly help either, and it was entirely _unfair_ how it still worked even as he had fake cat ears stand up from atop his head.

“I already told you to stop fake-flirting,” Goro would only say as _indifferently_ as he could. When he set down his cup and Akira was enjoying his cake, though, he’d only perk up at the realisation.

That was the perfect (or rather, _purr_fect) segue to what he wanted to ask!

“Which actually reminds me! I just wanted to know if— If, uh..”

Maybe charging into it without thinking of how to ask it first was a bad idea.

Akira was patient with him, though.  
As Goro had settled back into a silence trying to form the questions in his head, a hand wrapping around his chin, Akira would only sip at his coffee and nibble at his cake with a small smile on his cheeks. His eyes would look at nowhere but Goro in that (what was the opposite of _pressuring_?) silently-encouraging look.

Though Akira wasn’t even being overbearing, Goro still malfunctioned. In his state of internal panic, his eyes would dart to anywhere in the room _besides_ Akira until he caught sight of a white, upright piano sitting in the corner of the room.

“I just wanted to know if you’d— if you’d play that piano behind you!” Goro laughed, and it was _painfully_ obvious how forced and awkward it was.

Still, though, Akira would only set his fork down beside the cake, his eyes widening slightly behind those fake glasses of his before he’d made to turn and look over his shoulder. It was only when he’d confirmed that there was, indeed, a genuine piano in the café did he look back to Goro with the _widest_ grin blown up on his cheeks.

“You’ve never heard me play before, right?"

Goro shook his head _no_.  
That was a lie. Goro has watched all of the videos on Akira’s YouTube channel _including_ all of his piano covers and original pieces.

After another sip of his own coffee, Akira had only pulled off the headband from his head and stood, before he’d walked up to a waitress. Goro watched as he asked about the piano and if it was okay to play it, and when he’d been given the go-ahead, stride over to sit on the bench.

From where he sat, Goro had the perfect view of the man’s back before the instrument. His eyes would stay on Akira’s hands as he’d pushed up the cover of the piano and splayed his fingers over the black and white keys. When the first note rang into the air, Goro was _mesmerised_.

It was a slow ballad— the kind of song you’d listen to on a rainy day.  
The melody had soothed Goro’s nerves as he listened to Akira play, made him feel as if he were floating in a midst of clouds and cotton candy as the music filled his ears. The way Akira’s fingers did a slow dance across the keys was, somehow, _calming_ and the times Goro caught sight of his face, he’d bear witness to Akira in a state of total peace.

Akira’s eyes were closed, which gave way for his lashes to fan over his cheeks, and the smile that pulled up from the corners of his lips was content, _easy_. He’d bob his head to a slow and steady beat with each measure that he played. The man looked like he didn’t have a care in the world, as if everything that existed in his headspace were just _him_ and the _piano_.

It seemed even the cats took a moment to pause and simply stare at Akira with their tails swishing from left to right, as well as the other patrons of the café. Goro wouldn’t fault them, because Akira was amazing— _ethereal_ even, in a way.

Each note that floated up in the air felt like a carefully-written word in a love letter (to whom, was a mystery,) and Goro would only lament as the song had come to an end. Despite so, he had a little smile pulling up his cheeks, a sigh escaping his lips.

But then, as an applause rounded the air of the café, Akira would simply turn his head to peer over his shoulder. It was as if it were intentional when he’d looked _straight_ into Goro’s eyes with the fondest look in his own, a smile (as dazzling and as radiant as the sun) set on his cheeks.

Like the showman that he was, Akira would simply shut the cover of the piano once more before he’d stood and did a simple bow at the other patrons clapping at him. Goro would only watch—his own hands still giving him a quiet little round of applause—as Akira made his way back to the empty seat in front of Goro.

“Liked that?” Akira would ask. The smile that shone at Goro was proud, as well as the gaze Akira had settled on none else but _him_. 

Goro’s voice was breathless when he’d reply, “You’re amazing.”

There were really no other words Goro could spill to summarise it quite as well. Maybe Akira knew that, maybe it was just enough, because he’d only nod with an excitement fit for a puppy before he picked up his coffee cup again.

It was ironic because Akira Kurusu definitely resembled a cat even without the headband. 

“I’m glad you like it. That was something I wrote thinking about that time we were in the attic.”

Goro.. couldn’t even bring himself to be surprised or flustered anymore. He’d only eye Akira with hard disbelief in his stare.

Akira laughed.

“I swear! No jokes this time, I really _was_ thinking about it!”

Goro rolled his eyes. Two can play at that game.

“Yeah and while we’re at confessions, I was trying to get you hard that time you went to my class.”

That was another lie.

_Definitely_ a lie.

(It wasn’t a lie.)

“_Oh_ believe me, you were close,” Akira snorted. Goro only snapped his gaze back to him as he fought to stifle a yelp.

Was that supposed to be a joke? Was Akira being _serious_ about that bathroom text?

“Akira!”

By the time they’d finished their food and enjoyed ample time playing with the cats on the floor, Goro and Akira headed back to the station at Goro’s request because _damn it_ if only Akira stopped distracting him so he could do what he set out to do in the first place— And also spend more time with Akira.

So where did they go to do that aside from Akira’s apartment? Inokashira Park.

It was relatively quiet, no one would disturb them, and Goro could just run away with no restraint if things didn’t go well. It was _foolproof_.

As they strolled throughout the paths, Goro had tried bringing it up more than once after he’d run the scenarios through his head again, each with different wordings and questions and so forth. So far, he’d only hiccup when he’d built conversation up enough, only regressing back into either _silence_ or _unrelated topics_.

Anything he talked to Akira with, though, would make every _unrelated topic_ somehow turn into _related topics_.

When they’d found a playground and decided to sit on the swing sets, was when Goro was _done_ with himself.

Which brought them to the current.

Goro didn’t need to muse much on how the day was, because it felt like a date _again_ without a doubt anymore. Looking into Akira’s eyes, seeing those shiny black irises littered with small flecks the colour of burnt wood under the sunlight, only really made it harder to get his words out.

He’d only look back to their shoes as he opened his mouth.

“Today was.. Today we went to a café, and you played piano for me, and now we’re _here_ during sunset talking about what our relationship is and I can’t just lie now and say that it didn’t feel like a date. You’re always flirting with me and I have no idea if you do that to any of your friends too or if you’re only touchy with _me_ because you’re touchy with _everyone else_ and I just get so _confused_. I don’t know if you’re just messing with me or playing with me or if I should even enjoy what you do to me because you’re just so fucking _amazing_ and literally _anyone_ is more interesting than me and it could be any _second_ now that you find someone you want to hang out with more and that.. that just _scares_ me. I’m so scared of losing _anyone_ and _especially_ you.”

He was rambling— Rambling without even thinking about what he should or shouldn’t say anymore. He was so _tired_ of processing what words he should use and planning around it first. The entire day drained his mental energy and the pent-up emotions just flooded out without Goro even giving a _damn_ anymore.

Maybe, because of how _distant_ Akira’s voice sounded to his ears, he _should_ have thought about it. 

“Do I make you uncomfortable?”

Goro froze.

_Shit, shit, shit—_

His voice dipped into a more serious tone.

“Goro, look at me.”

He couldn’t. He physically just _couldn’t_. How fast was Akira? Could he just start running _now_? His legs were starting to fidget, his hands coming to wrap around his frame.

“_Goro_.”

Goro’s body began trembling again, and it sure as Hell wasn’t the cold that did it.

There were a few seconds of silence between them—maybe even _minutes_— after that, but he would never lift his eyes from the ground in front of him. His stare was hard as he concentrated on doing nothing but avoiding Akira’s eyes.

He was so _stupid_. Such a goddamn _idiot_. He must’ve set off Akira with something he said. Akira must be angry at him. The rational part of his brain argued that it didn’t even make any _sense_ how he’d come to that conclusion, but Goro couldn’t listen to the voice in his head in the midst of his panic and the rapid beating in his chest.

Goro drew blood again. He could taste it on his tongue. When did he start gnawing his lip?

From the corner of his eye, Goro could make out Akira standing up. He got to his feet slowly, the swings only making faint creaking sounds as he did. Was Akira going to leave now? Was he about to leave Goro? Bitterly, he could only agree.

Who would want to stay with someone like Goro Akechi?

But then he saw Akira’s silhouette move towards him. The man would only stop in front of Goro, and Goro would shift his stare down to his lap next. When a few moments passed once more, he’d shut his eyes.

Maybe Akira would start yelling at him, maybe hit him or something, _anything_. Goro crossed a line, he was sure of it. He was only going to get what he deserved. Goro flinched when he felt contact with his skin.

And then, there was warmth on his cheeks— Both of them.

It wasn’t the warmth of a fresh slap across the face, or even the white-hot pain of being punched. Instead, it was a familiar, _comforting_ warmth that Goro was well-acquainted with.

What _was_ this? What was Akira _doing_?

There was hesitance before he’d made to crack open one eye, and then the other as they began to widen. The shock was clear as Goro only saw Akira’s face staring back up at him.  
His features were contorted into hard _worry_, brows knitted together, eyes soft and glossy, lips pursed into a tight line. Goro only realised too late that Akira was on one knee in front of him, those large, nice hands of his cupping Goro’s face with a firmness that only told him Akira wasn’t going to let him go.

“_Please_,” Akira would begin, his voice pure _desperation_, “Please _listen to me_. Goro Akechi, look into my eyes and just _listen_.”

Goro would never do anything _but_.

“I _never_ want to hurt you. I haven’t been playing you and I’m so fucking sorry I made you think that I am. Goro, I would never replace you and no one is ever going to take me away from you. You’re my _friend_, and even if someone new comes along, I won’t leave you for them. You’ll never lose me and I _swear_ on my word that I will always be here for you whenever, wherever, for whatever reason.

“I only flirt because I like seeing you all flustered, and it’s only ever with people I can trust, the people I _know_ who know me. I know I said it’s all for the jokes and all, but if my flirting made you think that I’m leading you on and it makes you uncomfortable, I can always just stop. You just have to tell me if anything I do is out of bounds for you and I won’t do it anymore. You’re really important to me and I don’t want anything else but to be around you, Goro Akechi.”

Well, _damn_. If Goro was already on the brink of crying earlier, then he was definitely past his breaking point now. He already felt the tears start streaming down his face to the back of Akira’s hands just as Akira had finished speaking, but the entire time, he’d done as he was told and simply looked at those shining, _honest_ black eyes with tears brimming at the corners of his own.

Quiet sobs choked out from his throat, and the way his body shook only multiplied twofold as he cried. As he did, Akira would only wipe his tears away with his thumbs, would only gaze up at him with the _gentlest_, most _patient_ look in his eyes while a little, lopsided smile pulled up from his lips. The warmth of his palms never left Goro’s cheeks as he hiccupped and sobbed and let out _everything_: All the _fear_, all the _anxiety_, and all the _relief_ that washed over him.

At one point, Goro turned his head just slightly to lean into Akira’s right hand. His lips pressing against the man’s palm was as close to a kiss as anything, the farthest he could go at the moment. They’d stay that way for a few minutes, and the sun had completely set when Goro had just about cried himself out.

“Do you feel a little better now?” Akira would only murmur, hands moving away from Goro’s cheeks in favour of pushing the locks around Goro’s face back to behind his ears. Weakly, Goro would nod, though his lips still quivered a bit.

A grin climbed up Akira’s cheeks, and just like that, he’d sat down on the ground in front of Goro and laid his head down on Goro’s lap with a content sigh.

Goro was about to open his mouth just as Akira had closed his eyes, looking peaceful and almost ready to nap in his position, when the man spoke up again.

“Do you still wanna know why I like touching you and cuddling you so much?”

One eye peered up at him.

“It’s because cats like warmth, don’tcha know?”

That earned Akira a laugh from him.

It could’ve been 20 minutes or it could’ve been a full hour, but they didn’t move from their positions for a bit of time. After giving his eyes a final rub, Goro’s hands came to sit atop Akira’s hair.

His fingers carded through those soft, curly locks, petting Akira as if he really _was_ a cat on Goro’s lap— and it was just the thing that helped the air around them settle from a tense, awkward feel, back into what they were comfortable with.

It was nice, even despite the chill air and the dark of night. There was nothing but the stars and them.

“Hey, Akira?” Goro whispered, one hand only scratching at a spot above Akira’s nape.

“Yeah?”

Akira’s eyes were still closed, and before he’d responded, Goro was pretty sure he’d fallen asleep like that. Still, he’d continue running his fingers through the man’s hair.

“Thanks.. For everything.”

Goro would only withdraw his hands when Akira moved his head and rested his chin on Goro’s thigh, eyes all _cozy_ and _relaxed_ as they gazed up at him.

“You’re always welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i,, wasn't emotionally ready for this chapter  
this chapter is everything to me rn
> 
> i love these two
> 
> listen list !! (songs that got me through this chapter)  
persona 5 ost - beneath the mask  
adventure time - slow dance with you  
cinematic orchestra - to build a home  
l'indecis - plethoria lp (the full album boiis)


	14. Track 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> matchmaking with the gang.

“Ryuji, give me back my glasses or I swear to _God_!”

“You’ll get ‘em back when you grow tall enough. Like _seriously_, how short _are_ you, Futaba?”

Futaba stomped a booted foot on the café floor. Ryuji only kept holding her glasses up above his head.  
Though the poor girl’s situation was unfortunate, their little gang still laughed and chuckled, all except for Yusuke who’d stood up from his seat at their booth.

The scene was as normal as any day with a group like Ryuji, Futaba, Yusuke, Ann, Shiho, Goro _and_ Akira all together in one place. Sundays seemed like the best time for everyone to come together, and so they set a time and a place to meet up for the _sole_ purpose of goofing around and being irresponsible young adults.  
Which is exactly why, when Sunday afternoons were usually quiet before in Café Leblanc, the establishment housed all their chattering and laughing and occasional boot-stomping just once a week, at least.

Goro didn’t mind that his favourite place to read had this noise and liveliness every once in a while— In fact, it made him happy.  
Having friends like the ones he had now made him happy.

He snuck a glance at Akira beside him, whose smile was wide on his cheeks and whose eyes spelled of a joy like a jester’s: Whose laugh was warm and loud and charming, even if it was uninhibited.. _Especially_ when it was uninhibited.

He was really glad to have a _friend_ like him, who introduced Goro to _his_ friends. Their respective groups grew because of it. Everything was _great_!

Well, actually..

“Best return them while she still hasn’t ruined your presence online, Ryuji,” Yusuke chided, easily plucking the glasses from the man’s fingers with his taller stature. Tucking his free arm behind his back in a gentlemanly manner and then bending forward just _slightly_ (maybe even in a small bow?) he offered the frames to Futaba, who’d been sticking her tongue out at Ryuji.

“I believe this is yours?”

Akira hooted at them with a wide grin on his lips, whilst Ann and Shiho began cooing at them with little teases. Everyone except _them_ knew that they liked each other (oh how _painfully_ obvious it was) but both Futaba and Yusuke, even after apparent years of knowing each other, still couldn’t bring themselves to confess or even believe that their feelings were reciprocated.

The first one to find out was Ann, of course, with her quick people skills and intellect on, and quote, “_the signs_.” When she pointed it out to their group (besides the two and Akira, who’d already known) they were quick to realise it, as well.

It was now just a matter of finding out how to get them together— That was the objective of today’s hangout.

Mission: Get the two densest lovestruck fools of their group to realise their love for each other.

How hard could it be?

“A-anyway! Are we going or not?” Futaba would exclaim, pink dusting up on her cheeks after she’d slipped her glasses back on. Goro found her to be an endearing girl, watching her march towards the front door with a sharp, robotic gait.

_Ah_, to be young and in love.

They all looked to Boss (who’d been standing behind the counter the entire time) as he spoke up when they’d made to follow after the redheaded woman. Boss usually gave them the little lecture before they left each Sunday, which Goro pretty much memorised word-for-word at this point.

_First he’s going to say_..

“Remember to keep your phones on so I can text any of you if anything happens. Try not to get _too_ much sun and keep yourselves hydrated! Don’t go to sketchy-looking places, too. Akira, keep Futaba _safe_.”

“Dad, don’t worry, she’s going to be _fine_—”

Boss cut him off with a _look_— One that warned of dire(?) consequences should his words not be heeded. Though the audible gulp Akira responded with was comical and comedic, they already knew that Boss was protective of his daughter, given her past of social withdrawal and her issues with people.

Ann was the one to appease the older man, flashing a bright smile at him as she wrapped one arm around Futaba’s shoulders.

“Don’t worry, Boss! Futaba’s got _us_ in case Akira gets distracted by new headphones again or something.”

“That was _one_ time.”

“Actually, that was _three_ times,” Goro corrected, a sly little smirk up on his cheeks as Akira looked back to him, sheer _betrayal_ in his eyes.

Only brushing him off with a laugh and a roll of his eyes, Goro shifted his gaze again to see Shiho with _her_ arm around Futaba on the woman’s other side, and Yusuke standing behind Futaba with a hand on her head. They all formed one big protection barrier around her, reminiscent even of the Featherman ultimate form.

“We’ll all keep her safe, Boss,” Yusuke would reaffirm.

“Leave it to us!” Shiho would add, tightening her half-hug on Futaba.

It took a bit of assessing and staring at them, but once Boss had waved his hand and sighed (translated as: “Alright, fine.” from the language known as _Sojiro_) the three of them had very _loudly_ given their thanks and dragged Futaba out through the front door.

Ryuji gave Boss a wave and a nod as he walked out, and Goro would leave money on the table beside his coffee cup.

“Thanks for everything, Boss.”

The jingle of the door’s bell rang above him as he exited the café, only meeting up with the rest of their group in front of the secondhand shop at the mouth of the alley— Which was still closed. It was strange, Goro hadn’t seen it open since when he first came to Leblanc.

“Sorry, Boss still had to tell me some stuff,” Akira’s voice spoke up from behind Goro. He’d only glance at Akira as he came to a stop beside him.

Akira adjusted the bag on his shoulder before flashing a bright smile at all of them.

“Let’s go!” 

* * *

“Watch your step.”

“.. Thanks.”

Goro would take a step back, shrugging off Akira’s hands from his forearms, though he offered the man a grateful (albeit awkward) smile all the same.

The planetarium was dark the moment they stepped into the exhibition area, lit only by the astronomy paraphernalia with small spotlights pointed at them, the stars, and heavenly bodies above their heads on the ceiling. Goro could recognise the few constellations he knew when he angled his head up and ran his eyes over the display, counting the planets and setting his eyes on the model of the Sun.

_There’s Aries.. Taurus.. Gemini.._

A tap on his shoulder. He’d turn to look at Ann beside him, who nodded her head little ways over in front of them.

Even in the dim lighting, he could still recognise Futaba’s exuberant figure pointing this way and that beside a calm and collected Yusuke, who nodded at every little factoid about _this telescope_ or _that star there in the corner_ being an inspiration in her favourite sci-fi movies. Goro wasn’t blind to that smile on the younger man’s cheeks, or the shine in Futaba’s eyes _especially_ when Yusuke would point out something and suggested it was from that one sci-fi flick.

He himself couldn’t help the grin that pulled up from the corners of his lips as he watched the two converse, lost in a little world where only _they_ occupied as they stood among multiple clay models of worlds in outer space.

“Well, this is certainly going easier than expected,” Goro commented, voice hushed a bit as he leaned into Ann.

“I seriously can’t believe they’ve been friends for years and they haven’t noticed it yet.”

There was an implication there. Goro didn’t get it. He only shrugged it off.

“It’s not like you and Shiho figured it out right away.”

Ann only sighed, the side of her head resting on Goro’s.

“You’re right.”

It _may_ have looked a bit creepy, but he and Ann would watch the two youngest of their group go around the exhibit together for a bit before they decided to go off and enjoy the place themselves. Futaba and Yusuke can enjoy their little not-date together before the light show began.  
With Shiho on Ann’s other side, they walked through all the exhibits together: Ann stopping to look at the mounted photos on the walls, Shiho commenting on them with her girlfriend, and Goro half-paying attention, half-keeping an eye out for wherever the rest of their group was.

It was just an excuse to glance around for Akira, if he were to be honest.

After the event in Inokashira, they’ve been in a strange sort of position in regards to their relationship. Mostly, things were back to normal (more or less) but talking to Akira alone made Goro halt all mental functions again, if only for a second. It was still unbelievable he even spilled all of his worries onto the man in one go, but Akira being Akira, he somehow took it all in stride and placated Goro.

Goro being Goro, took the relief that he could.

But _“bad with words,”_ his ass— Akira had a silver tongue, sharper than most. He was most likely downplaying it when he said he was “bad with words” or whatever that one time, for whatever reason there was.

Goro was just glad that it was over with, and he still had Akira as a friend. That was good enough, though it _did_ sting a little bit (see: _really hurt_) when the man had told him that he was _just_ a friend to him.

But then again, Akira didn’t exactly say **_just_** a friend, but still..

He shouldn’t be thinking about this when he was trying to enjoy spending time with his friends.

“You guys! The light show’s about to start!”

At the sound of Futaba’s voice calling out to them, Goro turned his head to the woman, who’d pointed down the entrance to the viewing room with a grin blown wide on her cheeks. As if using her and Yusuke as a rendezvous point, they’d all approached the two of them from their various points in the exhibition room— Already, he could imagine the questions Futaba would bombard them with by the time they actually got to their seats.

_It would be worth it, though. These idiots need to figure it out._

Goro would only smile to himself at the thought.

Once they’d done a quick head count to make sure everyone was there, the group headed to the viewing room together, their tickets in hand before they got it punched off at the entrance.

Inside, a mass of people had already flooded into the room with the (frankly) _gigantic_ screen spanning the entirety of the ceiling, most already settling into the seats as per the number on their tickets.

“Sweet, we’re in Row F! The _perfect_ spot.” Futaba would gush, wide, delighted eyes on her ticket. Yusuke beside her would only show the woman _his_ ticket.

Goro already knew the numbers on their stubs. Futaba was on 7-F, and Yusuke was on 8-F—they would be sitting next to each other—because _Ann_ was a sneaky little cat that offered to be the one to stand in line for their tickets.

She just so happened to have ordered only two tickets for Row F, while the rest were for Row H.

“Weird!” Ann would exclaim, fake shock in her voice, “Mine says 6-H!”

Goro stifled his laughter as he added, “I’m on 8-H.”

“7-H. Of course, I sit next to my darling girlfriend.”

Shiho winked at Ann, and Ann only blew her a kiss. At their open affections, the brunette rolled his eyes, though there was still a smile on his cheeks.

“PDA, you guys, _come on_,” he’d chide playfully, as Ryuji showed them his ticket.

“I guess I’m at 10-H.”

And it was in that exact moment that Goro froze.

_Wait, **what**? Didn’t Ann say I’d be sitting next to Ryuji?_

Akira strode over to stand next to him—cool, _casual_—and Goro felt his heart start to hammer against his chest. He’d focus his stare on Ann, almost _glaring_ but not quite so.

_Ann, what the **FUCK—**_

“I sit next to Goro.”—a toothy grin at him—"9-H.”

“Okay, okay,” Futaba interjected, coming in between them, “All the couples are together, yeah _sure_, but why are _we_”—she motioned back and forth between her and Yusuke—“on a completely different row?”

Ann simply held her hands up as she shrugged, eyes looking at some spot in the corner.

“The lady at the cashier must not have heard me right. There isn’t anything we can do about it _now_, though, is there?”

She smiled at Futaba, sweet and sugary.

“Sorry, Futaba. At least you’re with Yusuke, right?”

Futaba’s eyes widened, a blush spreading across her cheeks, as the realisation of their intentions no doubt befell her mind. She accusatorily pointed her ticket stub at Ann.

“Wait! Ann, did you set—!”

“We should get to our seats, Futaba.”

“No, Yusuke— Wait, I still need to—!”

Watching the taller man drag Futaba by the arm over to Row F, the rest of them shared a laugh. At least Yusuke _might_ have known what they were trying to do now, _might_ just take the chance to tell Futaba how he felt.

What was more romantic than confessing under (a video playback of) the stars and the universe?

“I swear if at least _one_ of them doesn’t confess by the end of the show, I’m still not giving up.” Ann snickered. “There’s an aquarium around here, right? Let’s go _there_ next.”

Goro had a feeling this was just an excuse for her and Shiho to have a date, while they were trying to set _Futaba and Yusuke_ up on a date.  
Did he even want to know if him sitting next to Akira was intentional? He somehow already knew the answer, but didn’t want to know anyway. Goro _really_ needed to explain what happened when they got home.

They’d all settled into their assigned seats, listened to the opening announcements, and as Goro leaned back into his seat to gaze up at the giant screen above their heads, there was a little voice in the back of his head listing off the worst possible scenarios.

Case in point:

_What would happen if that screen got unhinged somewhere and it just **fell on top** of all of us? There haven’t been any cases of that happening anywhere, right? **Surely**, the engineers built it all to be secure.  
But then again, a Phantom of the Opera chandelier situation **could** happen. It’s not a far stretch, but who would even want to unhinge a giant screen in a theatre-like room? What would be the goal?_

“Oh,” he’d mutter, mostly under his breath. No one probably heard him, with how loud the speakers were playing music and narration.

_Most murderers need no intention, do they? At least, the psychopathic ones.  
Let’s play “who looks like a possible murderer here.” Wait, no. We should be enjoying the show. When was the last time we blinked?_

Goro blinked, finding his eyes dry and burning. It could have been his blank staring, it could have been the cold of the viewing room— Still, what _truly_ sent a shiver to crawl up his spine was the voice in his right ear, the tiny puff of warm air brushing against the skin of his lobe.

“You okay?”

Akira’s voice was quiet and low when he’d whispered to Goro. Was it even just a _tiny bit_ husky? He was unsure. Akira was _way_ too close to Goro’s neck for him to think too much.

He felt his skin prickle at the junction of his throat and shoulder when he’d turned his head just _slightly_ to look at Akira in the eye. The distance between their faces was probably only a mere two inches.

“Yeah? Why do you ask?” he’d mumble back.

“You’re _spacing off_ again.”

Goro glared at him, his brows knitting together and his lips pulling down into a frown.

“Please tell me that pun wasn’t intentional.”

A wink, his signature grin.

“.. I hate you, Akira.”

Akira only hummed a satisfied hum in response, and then nodded over to the rows in front of them. Even still, their faces didn’t grow apart by one bit when Goro followed his gaze. 

“Look at our two loverbirds.”

From just two rows before theirs, Goro could spot Futaba and Yusuke talking in each other’s ear as he squinted in the relative darkness of the room. It seemed that, even as they kept their voices down, the two were still having a bashful little conversation about the light show that showcased outer space.

No doubt, Futaba was talking about spaceships and aliens, while Yusuke was probably talking about the aesthetics of it all and the artistic aspect of space.

A flash spread across the display, and Goro would only watch, a smile on his cheeks, when Futaba had let out a wondered, extended “Wow..”

Yusuke was only staring at her— it was obvious in how his head turned not to watch the screen, but to gaze at Futaba as the woman looked up at the displays of galaxies forming and stars becoming supernovas. Goro caught that fond little smile pulling up the artist’s lips, only watched in anticipation when they moved, as if speaking.

Goro was no lip-reader, but judging by the way Futaba’s head snapped to look at Yusuke, he guessed it was a compliment— Not about the stars, but about Futaba.

Or maybe it was Yusuke finally confessing, who knew? They were too far away for Goro to hear.

But then again, conversations like that shouldn’t be eavesdropped on.  
Goro could still vaguely make out what was happening through body language, though— After all, dance was the expression of thoughts and feelings through movement, and if anyone knew how to read body language because of that, it was Goro.

There was head shaking, and then there was Yusuke leaning back into his seat as Futaba sat up a bit to lean her face to his more, as if trying to chase after him, continue a conversation Yusuke was done having.

Yusuke was trying to play hard-to-get? _Oooh_.

Goro felt a tap on his shoulder, and it was just the thing that snapped him out of all his focus on their two youngest. He turned his head to look at Akira, who beckoned him to lean back onto his seat with the silent promise of words exchanged between them.

As he settled back into his chair (after having subconsciously leaned more and more towards the edge,) Akira’s lips were at his ear again.

“You were being too obvious there, ace detective.”

A shiver ran up the back of his neck. Goro felt the hairs at his nape stand straight at the sound of Akira’s voice.

He’d only shake his head.

“It seems like things are going well with the plan, though,” he’d counter, voice just as quiet.

There were fingers on his chin, tilting his head back up to the display above them. Goro was too stunned to really retaliate, only pursing his lips when he heard Akira’s voice in his ear.

“Why don’t we enjoy the show for now? Let them enjoy it without being watched.”

The warmth against his ear disappeared, and Goro would only watch as Akira settled back into his own seat with a smile on his face.

The rest of the film passed in silence between them though it was an enjoyable film about the creation of the solar system, so it was well worth it to watch the most popular theory of such an event in such a spectacular manner.

Goro liked it, and he’d find himself engrossed in the information and the hyper-realistic animation—the stars, the formation of the planets, _everything_—the entire time.

Maybe the feeling of eyes on _him_ was just the cold creeping up his neck.

When the film ended, all five of them made to meet up with Futaba and Yusuke. Surprisingly to Goro, the two of them were smiling.

“How was it for you guys?” Goro would ask, just as all of them had turned to exit the viewing room and search for the aquarium.

There were mixed reactions, of course.

“It looked really good!” Ryuji answered, stars in his eyes, “Seriously, man! Animators are underappreciated!”

“I was looking at Shiho the entire time.”

Another wink (from Ann this time) and Shiho would only respond with an exaggerated, smitten sigh.

“Funny, I was looking at _you_ the entire time.”

“Oh _God_, please don’t tell me you two were making out in there—” Goro gagged. The two only smiled at him, bright and joyful.

_Were_ they? _Weren’t_ they? Goro was glad that he didn’t look to his left throughout the film, either way.

“I think it was good. I was just a little distracted by someone around halfway through, though.”

Goro took a chance to look at Akira, who had his eyes on _him_. His lips pursed into a thin line as he stared at the man.

Was he suggesting that—

“Yusuke was telling me about how they used the colour palette to make the animations look more vivid, but still realistic,” Futaba chimed in then as she looked up at Yusuke.

“Futaba was telling me about those lizard people theories.”

They smiled at each other, _fondly_ even.

_Okay, something **definitely** happened between them_.

Goro was starting to sound like Ann, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it.

Before he had any more time to dwell on it, though, Goro would spot Ryuji making a break for it somewhere up ahead, to which (for _some_ reason) the rest of them felt the need to follow suit.

“Found the aquarium!” Ryuji would announce, proud, as he continued to sprint down the halls.

It was a matter of keeping up, getting ahead, and trying not to bump into any of the other people in the building— of which, there weren’t really many. They’d chosen a day and a time like this to keep Futaba as comfortable as possible, of course.

Once Goro had caught up behind Akira (because apparently Akira was much, _much_ faster than Goro at running) he’d only let out quick pants as he eyed the entrance up and down.  
There were cardboard stands of mermaids and colourful, cartoonish fish on each side of the doors, while the walls behind them were decorated with wave-like swirls. Above the entrance was a blue, beach-themed sign that spelled only “_Sunshine City Aquarium_” in a font Goro could only describe as _tropical_, with bubbles framing it and an orange beach umbrella over at the right end.

Right beside the entrance was a Ryuji bent over with hands on his thighs, his breaths coming out more laboured and controlled than anything. The blonde (though he was the fastest of them) looked not as winded as either Akira nor Goro— and it was then that Goro thought back to the man being a track team coach.

“You _are_ fast,” Goro complimented, one hand briefly coming to pat Ryuji’s shoulder when the man nodded bashfully.

“You damn bet I am. I wasn’t star of the track team for nothin’!”

There was already sweat building up at Goro’s forehead from their small run, which he’d wipe away with the sleeve of his button-up. As he began evening out his breathing, they’d simply wait for the rest of their group to catch up.

“Ryuji, catch!”

In front of him, a quick flash of blue sped by, and it was only when he’d looked to the blonde did he realise that Akira had thrown him a water bottle. Goro spasmed for a second at the feel of cold plastic pressing against the back of his neck.

“Water?” Akira offered, once Goro had turned to him.

Though he was annoyed at the _literal_ chill up his neck, he still accepted the water bottle Akira held out to him, gratefully. It was when he was taking a sip did he see Ann and Shiho approach them.

“Where are Futaba and Yusuke?” he asked, cap to the bottle again. Ann took the water from him when Goro had offered it to the panting woman.

“They decided to walk.”

“Walk?”

Goro moved away from them for a bit, standing on the balls of his feet to look above the crowd and try to scope out bright, orange hair.

He _did_ see he bright, orange hair soon enough. In fact, he saw _more_ than that.

It was only when they’d gotten close enough that Goro lowered himself from balancing nearly on his tip-toes and confirmed it for himself.

“Nice headband,” he commented, only eyeing the black and green alien-esque antennas sticking out from a headband sitting on Futaba’s head.

Futaba nodded up at him with a bright smile spread across her cheeks, “I wanted a souvenir.”

“We were planning to give you two a different kind of souvenir, though,” Shiho would speak up. Ann was quick to cover her mouth with a hand and a, “Shiho, don’t ruin the surprise!”

As Goro watched the two faux-wrestle (which was really just trying to tickle each other) he saw Ryuji pass by from the corner of his eye, almost making a straight line to Yusuke’s side. Ryuji wrapped an arm around the taller man’s back and guided him away from Futaba.

“Yusuke, my dude, lemme tell you about _love_..” he heard Ryuji begin with, right before they’d walked straight past the entrance of the aquarium. Akira, too, was gone—presumably already inside with their two other men.

There was a faint vibrating from his pocket, and all Goro could do as Ann and Shiho crowded around Futaba (each wrapping one arm around her shoulders like Ryuji did to Yusuke) was check the message he’d gotten. 

* * *

**Ryuji (sent 14:42)  
yo me and akira are going to try convince yusuke to tell futaba already**

**Ryuji (sent 14:44)  
akira says to protect them pls ann and shiho are going to talk to futaba thanks**

**You (sent 14:44)  
Got it.**

* * *

Goro was apparently going to play bodyguard for a bit, essentially. _Huh_.

He didn’t mind it, though— If anything, he was grateful to not be around Akira for the moment, and so he made to follow after the girls as they walked into the aquarium, phone pocketed.

“Futaba, how long have you and Yusuke known each other?” Ann asked.

“Three and a half years.”

They were in the main hall, where there were three passages to choose from— The path to multiple rooms showcasing individual marine life, the path to the bigger fish tanks, and the main attraction, the tunnel.

Goro had picked a pamphlet from a stand near the entrance earlier, and once he’d skimmed his eyes over the map on the back, he found that all three passages would actually come together in one big room at the end. Each of them would be a twisting, winding path, though, so it made the experience longer than one would initially think.

“That’s the _thing_!” Ryuji’s voice rang, and to Goro, it sounded as if from far away in one path to his right— The bigger fish tanks.

Promptly, he decided to steer his companions to the leftmost passage, to the marine life learning centre. He figured the purpose of splitting their group into two was to keep Futaba and Yusuke apart, and as their valiant bodyguard, he would do his _darndest_ to fulfil his duties.

“You’ve known him for three and a half years, and crushed on him for two years?” Shiho asked then, her tone gentle as they walked down the path.

Goro would mostly tune out their conversation and read through the little signs beside the smaller tanks they passed by. He’d skim through the names of the fish, the scientific names, its physical description, and miscellaneous other information, all the while following the sound of Ann’s, Shiho’s and Futaba’s voices.

At one point about fifteen minutes later, they’d decided to stop and stand around near the tank that housed Betta Fish.

“What do _you_ have to say about this?”

The question caught him off guard. Up until that point, Goro had been mostly-quiet as they discussed the redhead’s relationship with Yusuke, mostly a lurker in the conversation— Hell, Goro wasn’t even listening half of the time, so he could really only shrug as Futaba stared up at him expectantly.

“Sorry, I don’t really have an opinion aside from ‘_You should tell him_.’”

“From one person who has an impossible crush to another, do you really think it’s _that_ easy?”

That second question caught him even _more_ off guard— specifically, that part about having an impossible crush.

“What do you mean?” Goro settled on asking, as if trying to play it safe. Futaba only crossed her arms at him, voice oozing incredulity.

“Dude, you really think I don’t know already? It’s pretty obvious you like Akira— a _lot_.”

They held each other’s stares for a few seconds, and all the while Goro was trying to figure out if she was calling a bluff or not— Judging by the confidence in her eyes, though, she wasn’t trying to pry it out of his own mouth.

She knew. Somehow, that wasn’t surprising.

“Who else knows?”

“Everyone except Akira and Ryuji. Ryuji might get it soon enough, though.”

He took a second to consider his next question.

“And how did you figure it out?”

“I don’t know, the way you look at him? The way you’re literally _always_ staring at him? The last time we were having dinner together you were calling each other “_prince_” and “_my king_!””

Futaba made to gag, cringing at the memory with narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

Goro only smiled a sheepish smile at Ann and Shiho who, up to that point, hadn’t exactly known about their (many) _nicknames_, yet. It was clear by the way their eyes widened that it was news to them.

He made a silent promise to explain it to them, sooner or later.

“Okay, but how does this have anything to do with you confessing to Yusuke?” Goro would counter, eyes back on the redheaded woman.

It only mildly surprised him when Futaba grabbed onto his arm and began tugging him along down the passages and tanks, with Ann and Shiho only following beside them curiously.

She didn’t let go of his arm, and it seemed to Goro like she wouldn’t do that for a bit longer.

“It’s not that easy telling someone you like them, y’know. I mean, what if he doesn’t like me back? What if I ruin what we have now? Do you know how _awkward_ it’ll be?”

Those words were familiar to him— _Too_ familiar, even.  
Goro could sympathise with her anxieties, could only sigh and give her shoulder a squeeze. He’s definitely been (and actually, still _is_) where Futaba was now, knew the fear of severing connections because feelings weren’t aligned and the chances of losing that person you admired.

In a way, they were sitting on the exact same boat.

“I think our cases are different, though,” he’d only begin, after a bit, “You two have known each other for _far_ longer than I’ve known Akira. Besides (and this is just a quote I heard) the way Yusuke looks at you, and the way he’s “_literally always staring at you,_” tells me that he likes you back. Don’t do what I do and deny every little piece of evidence you’re handed then twist it so you believe he sees you as “just a friend.””

From just a few more metres away, Goro could see the end of the passage they strolled through.

“Take things as fact when _everyone_ around you is telling you the same thing,” he finished.

It was sound advice, coming from him, at least. He could agree with what he’d said now that he actually heard himself say it, realising that he _does_ believe what he preaches.

It really would’ve just helped him out a _bit_ there if Akira didn’t explicitly say they were _friends_.

Futaba had gone quiet for a bit after his little speech. Though her head faced the ground, Goro would simply guide her away from the larger groups of people and let her mull over what he’d said, let her make a decision from his, Ann’s, and Shiho’s advices.

Once they reached the end, Goro would only look, eyes wide with wonder, at the big, glass wall stretching the entirety of the room from wall to wall, and from floor to ceiling. On the other side, he could faintly make out multiple dolphins swimming about, only chuckling to himself as he watched them play around.

“Oh, and one more thing I just remembered,” Goro would blurt, “He let me go through his latest sketchbook one time. Do you know he draws you? A _lot_?”

Futaba let out a little yelp at that, finally looking back up at him with a slackened jaw and a flush spreading across her face.

“No way! That’s a lie!”

He shook his head, smile playing at his lips. From the corner of his eye, he’d already spotted the other half of their group going along the glass barrier of the aquarium’s largest tank.

“You should ask him to let you see it yourself if you don’t believe me,” Goro hummed, his free hand only gesturing towards where Ryuji, Yusuke, and Akira were approaching them.

Goro slipped his arm out of Futaba’s (very painfully) tightening grip on his limb, only going over to behind her frame as he set his hands on the woman’s shoulders, bending forward just slightly to mumble to her.

“Take the chance. You equipped your highest luck charm the last time we were playing that RPG, right?”

And then, he pushed her forwards, setting her off on a dazed little walk up to Yusuke.

Ryuji and Akira had joined them, all five of them only standing together as a group when the two had come to a stop in front of each other.

“This is going to be so adorable, I swear to God,” Ann cooed beside him, the smile _audible_ in her voice.

“Did you manage to convince Yusuke?” Shiho would ask. Goro didn’t really turn his head to look at the rest of them, only smiling to himself as he watched Futaba and Yusuke stumble over their words and blush varying shades of pink.

Yusuke produced a bright red lobster plushie from behind his back then, offering it to Futaba, and Goro could only wonder where he got it, exactly.  
The redhead had accepted it, though, and it was in that moment that Yusuke held up another one— Matching lobster plushies, huh.

Ann was right. This _was_ adorable.

“We passed by a gift shop on the way here. I thought he wanted to buy them because he likes lobsters in general, but to think, it was to give one of them to Futaba.. Dad’s going to ask her _so_ many questions when she gets home.”

Akira laughed, and Goro only realised that the man had taken a spot beside him once that warm, bubbly sound reached his ears.

Right now? He couldn’t be very much bothered by the internal conflict he felt being around Akira. The way Yusuke was holding up the head of his plushie to kiss Futaba’s was too _wholesome_.

“They make a cute couple,” Goro sighed, smile maybe just a _hint_ bittersweet. He was still happy for his friends, though.

“_We_ make a cute couple.”

Akira was smiling at him, coquettish and so _obviously _jokingly. Goro only punched his shoulder as he chuckled.

“_Yeah_, yeah.”

* * *

When they’d all gotten together again, Futaba and Yusuke had (shyly) announced that they were a couple to the group, and to celebrate, they circled back to Café Leblanc for curry and coffee.

Throughout the dinner, there were smiles, laughs, banter, and _a lot_ of teasing. Sojiro had taken the announcement as well as any protective father would— With a word of warning to Yusuke, of course, with very _real_ threats should he ever dare hurt Futaba in any way possible.

Yusuke had, in that moment, vowed to protect and care for Futaba with everything he had.

Of course, more teasing ensued, but Sojiro still expressed joy for his daughter and her new boyfriend in the end.

“It’s about time,” Sojiro had even said. Apparently, he was the first out of _anyone_ to know, long before even Akira knew.

At some point in their dinner, Goro had stood up and walked over to Sayuri again. After eating any sort of heavy meal, he felt as if he shouldn’t be sitting longer for some reason, and so decided to go over the painting and run his eyes over it once more.

Akira had said that Sayuri was the mother, and that the baby was named—

Goro slapped his forehead.

Sayuri and Yusuke.. Boss telling him once long ago that the artist that gave Leblanc Sayuri still comes around.. Yusuke is an art major.. How had he never realised it before?

So was Sayuri the name of Yusuke’s mother, then? He began to mull over it.

“I’ve heard that you’ve taken a liking to Sayuri.”

Speak of the Devil.

Goro would only turn to look over his shoulder and nod, a smile on his lips.

“It’s a beautiful painting. Boss tells me an artist gave it to Leblanc a few years ago.”

“It’s my mother’s painting,” Yusuke would hum, making to stand beside Goro now in front of the piece. “Her last one.”

That only meant two things: Either Yusuke’s mother stopped painting altogether, or she was dead.

Goro didn’t want to push the topic any further, knowing the dull pain of loss already. Instead, he’d only nod and look over his shoulder to glance briefly at Akira, before looking to Yusuke with a hand on his chin. 

“Why did you give it to Leblanc?”

“Partially, it was to thank Boss for letting me spend some few nights here when I found myself homeless. Mostly, it was a gesture necessary for letting go of the past,” the artist replied, voice even and indifferent.

_Steer it away from uncomfortable topics. He doesn’t need the sadness when he finally got the girl he’s liked to be his significant other._

“Is that so, huh?” Goro looked back to the painting. “Just out of curiosity, how did you meet Akira?”

Yusuke’s laugh was a low bass, complimentary to his deeper voice. He at least seemed unbothered by the nearly-sombre ditch they would’ve found themselves in, should Goro have pressed the topic of his past circumstances. That was good.

“That’s quite a story. If I remember correctly, he approached me after I’d been asking Shujin students for a beautiful lady I’d spotted a few times. She was also a student there, as far as I knew, and Akira told me he knew her personally— a close friend of hers, actually.

“I needed her to model for me at the time. She was my ideal vision of utmost beauty, and so I needed to capture her essence in my paintings. Unfortunately, once my former mentor was arrested, my drive to paint disappeared for a while. Akira offered me to stay here after it happened, and by the time I recovered, his friend had supposedly moved abroad.”

Another chuckle. Goro had only been nodding along as he recalled his tale.

“It was a shame, really. When I was introduced to Futaba though, she’d been my muse since. There’s an underlying mystery to her, a beauty hidden in layers. Though many may not consider her more than an average girl, she’s _beautiful_ to me, and I’m not saying that _just_ as an artist.”

Yusuke would turn to look at the girl then, who was seated between Ann and Ryuji. She was laughing, trying to swat the blondes’ hands away.

“Did you know? Under the _right_ lighting, Futaba’s eyes aren’t purely brown. You can see hints of purple in her irises, close to the colour of lilac but not quite. I find myself mesmerised by her them a lot of the time,” Yusuke sighed dreamily, _smitten._ Goro chuckled at his state: a young man so happily swept up in pure, sweet love.

It was so incredibly pure and warm, and Goro would only pat a hand on Yusuke’s back in a sort of congratulations. To be young and in love was indeed a powerful thing, able to make one blind to all else but the person of interest, able to make things seem just a tad more colourful and full of life, more hopeful, more _beautiful_.

“I’m happy you two are finally together,” he’d say, a genuine smile on his cheeks, “It certainly took a while, though.”

Yusuke would laugh, nodding in agreement.

“We have all of you to thank for it. Thank you for today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> H OO B O Y THIS AIN'T THE ONLY UPDATE GO OVER TO THE NEXT ONE RN  
also futanari HAS HAPPENED PEOPLE. Y E S. F I N A L L Y, I WRITE ABOUT THESE BABIES ALL TOGETHER.
> 
> listen list !! (songs that got me through this chapter)  
la vie en rose  
adventure time - slow dance with you


	15. Track 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> back to normal (more or less.)

“Spill! Tell me what happened!”

He and Ann had _just_ shut the door of their apartment when the woman had exclaimed at him. Frankly, Goro wasn’t even that surprised anymore— Ann must’ve been _dying_ to know the details since he’d come home that night from Inokashira.

“Let me at least get my shoes off—”

“_Goro_. What _happened_?”

Goro narrowed his eyes at her mid-taking off his left shoe, which Ann just returned all the same with equal ferocity.

“Your impatience knows no bounds.. Alright!”

It was best to just get it over with already. Goro wanted to go to bed as soon as he could, after today.

After flicking on the lights in the living room, Goro settled on the couch with Ann pressed up beside him. He couldn’t even so much as get a glass of water to last the entire interview, but if Ann was going to poke and prod at him so much, he may as well just go without.

“What do you want to know?” he’d begin with, leaning back into the plush of their sofa. He had one pillow in his arms, only hugging it close to his chest as a sort of cuddle thing. The scent of coffee and fabric conditioner filled his nostrils when he pressed the lower half of his face against it.

Ann was quick to reply, eyes burning with curiosity.

“What did he say when you asked him?”

Goro only hugged the pillow tighter, thinking that maybe he was just a _bit_ masochistic to keep it close to himself when it smelled like Akira.

He had to recall the events of that day, would only cringe at himself when he recalled the rant he went on. 

* * *

“He just rambled, basically.”

Futaba shook her head from across him, Café Leblanc now empty except for the two of them occupying the farthest booth from the door.

“About what? What did you say?” she’d prod. Futaba would only lay her chin down on the red lobster plushie Yusuke had gifted her, which sat on the table in front of the woman. Her big eyes stared at none but Akira as he thought back to the events at Inokashira Park.

“Well, I can’t really tell you word for word— Except if you recorded _our_ conversation this time.”

Another shake of the head.

“You turned off your phone. Wouldn’t have been able to if even if I wanted.”

“Why did you even record Ann and Goro’s conversation, though?”

Akira wasn’t angry about it, per se— not _really_. Only curiosity laced his voice as he leaned back into the couch of their booth, not breaking eye contact with his sister.

What she’d done had breached moral boundaries, but what could one expect from a hacker who was obsessed with gathering information? Akira couldn’t really blame her, or at least not _too _much.

“If I didn’t, do you really think you guys would go anywhere?” Futaba would question, tone sharp and matter-of-factly, “You’d basically be stringing him along and I _guarantee_ you he’d follow for as long as you do it.”

Akira would glare at her. He wanted to protest, if only Futaba didn’t continue.

“Face it, Akira. You don’t have the balls to tell him how you feel and you’d keep things at arm’s length as long as you can. You would deny the most _obvious_ signs that he likes you because a guy like Goro would never admit it unless he knows for _sure_ that you like him back. That game you two play? The hints? How hard do you have to think to dance around it? How many reasons have you come up with to convince yourself it’s _any other person_ that he’s talking about?”

He turned his head to the side, hyper-focusing on the rag hanging by the sink. Akira couldn’t look at Futaba’s stare at the moment. Her eyes could easily pierce the very core of his being, if she wanted to.

Futaba _knew_ Akira, maybe even more than he himself did. If that was so, she must’ve sensed the hesitance in his reply, masked by his even voice.

“I’m not stringing him along, it’s just friendly flirting. I made it clear from the start that it was just _Akira being a confident egomaniac_ and that it wasn’t serious. Goro knows that.”

“Huh, because even if it was “_friendly flirting_,” you’d still end up hurting him.”

His eyes snapped back to her, voice raising.

“I would _never_—!”

But Futaba would only respond calmly, a stark contrast to his outburst.

“Akira, you heard what Ann said.”

When Akira said nothing more, settling back down onto his seat, she’d stare at him with her lips set in a frown. Slowly she set her phone onto the table and pressed play on an audio file.

Ann’s voice filled in the space between them.

_“I know you’re going to start expecting more from him. You’re going to do that thing where you trick yourself into believing that you’re in an established relationship again and you self-sabotage your own happiness.”_

Futaba tapped on a timestamp a bit further forward.

_“I don’t want you having another repeat of what happened last time.”_

She paused it.

“Goro’s clearly been through some shit in his life before. Do you _really_ believe you wouldn’t hurt him somewhere down the line if you keep up the charade? Want to or not, you’re going to end up doing that if you aren’t honest with him.”

Silence.

Was it just because Akira _didn’t_ want to respond, or because he _couldn’t_?

Futaba only sighed, after a while.

“Look.. Just tell me what he said, and what _you_ said.” 

* * *

“He only thinks of you as a _friend_?”

The shock was wholly evident in Ann’s tone of voice, emphasised only by her widened eyes and her gaping mouth. It didn’t take too long before she was frowning, almost as if in protest.

“That’s such _bullshit_, though!” she groaned, making to lay down on Goro’s thighs with a frustrated whack to the couch’s plush.

“Akira said he flirts with _all_ of his friends. At least, the ones he trusts..?”

Ann’s eyes gazed up at him, two blue pools of curiosity and incredulity. She groaned again, longer and more frustrated this time.

“It isn’t even the flirting because I can _get_ that, but the touching?”

“Cats like warmth,” Goro echoed, though without the humour this time. Instead, the laugh his throat produced was dry, almost _bitter_, even.

“Gummy bear, all the cuddling you do does _not_ look like what friends do. Don’t tell me you’ve held hands before, too..?”

“Uhm—”

Right. He didn’t tell Ann about that time in Leblanc.

The memory of warm hands on his face, while the smell of coffee and spices lingered in the air, retained in his head. With it, the memories of running his fingers along Akira’s palms and digits still remained clear as day.

Did that count?

Goro was silent for a bit, contemplating whether or not to actually tell Ann about it. Before he could come to a verdict, though, her voice brought him back to reality— to the suspicious look in her eyes and the way her lips pursed to one side.

“Goro?”

He’d only remain quiet and smile, awkwardly pinning the corners of his lips up.

“Wait, no..! _No_!”

Ann began hitting the pillow against his chest.

“You _didn’t_! Are you telling me you two have held hands and I never knew about it?!”

Another slap to the pillow.

“We were just.. In Leblanc, y’know?” Goro would try to reason, try to placate her, “I was spacing out and staring at his hands and it just.. Just slipped out, I guess.”

“_What_ slipped out?”

Goro would only look to the side as he mumbled, “I was thinking about how nice his hands looked and I said it without even meaning to. Akira let me touch them and he ended up holding my face for a little bit.”

Ann went quiet after he spoke, and it was maybe about a minute or two before the way her stare bore into the side of his face made Goro finally look back down onto those assured eyes.

“There is no way in Hell that boy sees you as just a friend.” 

* * *

“You.. You _didn’t_. I don’t believe it.” Futaba had been shaking her head as she spoke, and it gradually got faster and faster as she continued, “You played that new song you made for him?! I thought you were saving it for the next time he’s at your place!”

Akira would only shrug as he poured himself a cup of coffee behind the bar. Making his way back to his seat, he’d sip at the bittersweet drink.

“He asked me to play piano for him, so I did.”—another sip—“He said he liked it but I didn’t exactly tell him it was written for _him_.”

Futaba only groaned, fingers _lightly_ digging into the lobster plushie on her lap.

“It was the perfect chance, though! You could’ve just told him, but_ no_ you just have to be mister “_I’m so mysterious and emotionally-repressed_!””

She punched the plushie, though would immediately hug and plant a kiss on top of its head. Akira couldn’t help but chuckle as he set down his mug.

“Why do you insist on not telling him, though?” Futaba would ask, plushie wrapped securely in her arms as she looked up at him, “I know you’ve got that entire ‘mysterious charm’ thing going on, but you’d just hurt Goro if you don’t tell him how you feel and you still act like he’s your boyfriend. There are _boundaries_ between the shit _friends_ do and the shit _boyfriends_ do, Akira.”

And Akira would sigh again, for maybe the fifteenth time since they’d started this conversation.

“I told you, it’s complicated. It’s better if we just stay friends and we don’t get too attached to each other.”

Futaba squinted her eyes at him, as if studying Akira. He wasn’t bothered by the scrutiny as he drank more coffee.

“Now what’s one good and specific reason why you would be afraid of emotional attachment?” she asked simply—almost as if it was a thought that only vocalised itself— with her eyes dead set on him.

That brown gaze was cold, _calculating_. Akira was quick to retaliate.

“I’m not afraid of emotional attachment.”

“Oh my God, it’s worse than I thought.” 

* * *

“But anyway, we’re still just friends. Not much has changed except he knows I have bad abandonment issues now.”

“_That_ and that you admitted to wanting to get him hard in class.”

Goro let out a strangled noise from within his throat.

“It was a joke! The song was sexy so I wanted to make something body-confident! If I knew Akira was going to sign up for that class, I would’ve put Beyonce off for the next week!”

“Okay first of all, Beyonce would be _proud_ of your choreography, okay gummy bear? Secondly, I wouldn’t be surprised if Akira really _did_ get hard because you’re _hot_ when you dance to impress.”

His lips pursed, unsure of what really to reply with.

“Look, I saw the video on the channel, okay? You _threw off your jacket_. Your _bulging muscles_”—Ann would reach up to grab and squeeze his biceps, for emphasis—“make all the boys drop to their knees. I bet Akira couldn’t contain himself when he was watching you dance.”

Ann winked at him, and the smile playing on her lips spelled of nothing but mischief and slyness.

“Please, stop. He’s just a _friend_.”

“Honey, those texts he sends you tell me otherwise— Phone. Give me.”

One hand faced palm-up below his face as Ann stared up at him.

Goro would only sigh and shift a bit to slip a hand into his pocket before handing his phone to the woman. Giddy, Ann would unlock the screen (because she knew his passcode) and go straight to the chat logs.

“I still can’t believe you changed his contact to ‘coffee king’ because he asked you to..”

“It’s a catchy nickname,” Goro shrugged.

“Oh, here we go! Where do I want to start, huh Goro?”

He was already terrified of this. Ann made to cough theatrically as she scrolled up and down the chat log and read a few of Akira’s texts aloud.

“”_I already have an idea but I like it already?_” With a winky emoji?”

She scrolled again, only began giggling maniacally all of a sudden as a grin blew wide on her cheeks.

“Oh my _God_, here it is. “_I feel like you were about to send me a fuck you there because if so, come here and fuck me yourself, you coward_.””

Her eyes were wide with delight as she stared up at Goro, whose cheeks already felt hot at the mental image of _that_ _picture_ surging back into his mind.

“He was drunk at the time!”

“Uh-huh, and here’s another one. “_I mean I already know you’re sexy as fuck but when you dance while drunk you’re really fucking hot, I hope you know that_.””

Goro was only quiet, only pursed his lips as Ann began playfully jabbing at the pillow between her and his stomach.

“Case in point, I call checkmate. Akira _definitely_ thinks you’re hot shit.”

“Like he says even in his texts, he was _drunk_,” Goro huffed, making to take in deep breaths to start calming his heart.

“_Tipsy_.”

“Still not sober, and not thinking clearly.”

“A drunk man’s rambles are his sober thoughts!” Ann would only laugh, and Goro made to pluck his phone from her hands before she could attack him any further.

“Anyway, let’s get to bed. It’s late, and we have class tomorrow.”

Goro would only push Ann’s head off of him before he stood, only merely rushing into his bedroom as Ann called out to him.

“Goodnight, gummy bear! Don’t forget to greet Akira goodnight, too!” 

* * *

Days came and passed surprisingly quickly for Akira, and before he could even mark off his calendar, Wednesday night arrived. He sat on his usual chair, undressed for his thief duties while Futaba sat typing away on her laptop on the couch. On his lap was a purring, maybe-asleep Mona, whom he scratched with one hand as they waited for their final member.

“Have you told Goro yet?” Futaba would ask, though her eyes remained on the screen.

She’d been pestering him about telling Goro his feelings since they had a talk in Leblanc, to which Akira would only _vehemently_ reject each time. What was the point, when he wasn’t very sure of the chances yet?

What he knew for a fact was that Goro Akechi liked Akira, but what would getting into a relationship offer? More _lies_? More _deceit_? _Suffering_, or maybe even a breakup more painful than being shot in the heart?

It was better to leave things as they were, with the two of them just _affectionate friends_.

Akira eyed his phone on the coffee table.

True, the concept of being _friends with benefits_ had crossed his mind before, but Goro was too _good_ for that— Goro _deserved_ more than that, more than just being a quick, phone-call-away _fuck_.  
But he’d only be lying to himself if he said that he didn’t want to be all over Goro: If he said that he didn’t want to run his hands all over Goro’s chest, or down his back; If he didn’t want to hear him gasp and moan, slur Akira’s name in pleasure; If he didn’t want to worship every single inch of Goro’s body for hours on end, leaving kisses and marks and bruises that wouldn’t fade for _days_.

He’s thought of doing all those things, imagined the feel of Goro around him on countless nights already, but he didn’t want it all to be at _surface-level_. Akira didn’t want their pleasure to be driven solely from base desires, only wanted Goro to feel _loved_ and _worshipped_ when he was at his barest, when his clothes were off and he was giving all of _him_ to Akira.

But sadly, that would never come to be. After all, Goro shouldn’t be dragged into an unsure relationship.

Besides, Akira knew there was something off with the brunette, whenever it was just _them_.

Since Inokashira, Goro had only ever come to Leblanc with Ann, never by himself anymore; Whenever they were alone together, he would fidget or remain quiet; His texts were short, and it didn’t go by Akira how he’d type and backspace _multiple_ times just to send something like an “Okay” or an “I’m not free” in the end.

Akira needed to fix this as soon as he could.

Mona would jump off his lap once the quiet _thump_ of feet landing on the wooden floor of his apartment reached his ears, and Akira didn’t need to see who’d _just_ arrived.

“Long time no see,” he would greet, only smiling up at Morgana simply. The man would slip off the mask from his head as he’d come to sit on the chair opposite Akira’s, nodding to acknowledge him.

It’d been a month since their success on the Watanabe case, and even still, some few news articles here and there still popped up either about the CEO himself, or the “clients” he served. In that span of time, they didn’t have a single meeting in favour of laying low and letting the steam cool for a bit.

Now that Watanabe and co. had mostly faded into old news, though, they would have a new target to do research on— The purpose of their meeting _then_.

“Good job on the NE case, you guys. We did well,” Futaba started. After a few more clicks on her laptop, she’d face the screen to them.

“But what do you say about targeting politicians now?”

The face displayed on the screen was unmistakeable, and Akira found that he’d only silently seethe at the man whose face smiled and waved for the cameras.

“I found a little more about Watanabe and about the prostitution ring he ran concerning the idols of New Era. The money he got from it was obviously going to a hidden bank account under a fake name, but after looking at the transactions, it was _weird_— Most if not _all_ of the monthly earnings got transferred onto a completely _different_ bank account by the end of each month, so I dug into it.

“Guess who was surprised to find that a _lot_ of our past targets had similar accounts? Kaneshiro, Madarame, Ito— They all sourced out the money to the same one that Watanabe’s ring was giving to. It took a few days but I traced the account back to a research lab that was looking into, and get this, _cognitive psience_. My _mom’s_ old research.”

Akira’s frown deepened.

“Let me guess, that bastard is the one who owns the lab— or is he a _major_ backer?”

Futaba only nodded at him, her lips pursed into a thin line.

“_Both_. Prime Minister Masayoshi Shido owns the lab and is the _only _backer. I always thought his big, flashy election campaigns were from stealing public funds, but this shit goes _way_ deeper than you think. I mean, he was getting money off _Kaneshiro_, who was a _mob boss_. You ever think about how some of the other candidates he was against either randomly died from “_mysterious circumstances_” or “_accidental poisoning_” after the elections?”

“He could very well have been behind it,” Morgana hummed, nodding only once.

“So that’s our new target, then?”

Another nod, though her face went grim.

“This isn’t like any of our other targets, you guys. We’re aiming to take down the _prime minister_ of Japan. If this asshole really _is_ part of a conspiracy, the risk factor goes up: during infiltrations, there’ll be a hundred times more danger, a higher chance of _dying_. I wanna do this for the sake of finding out what happened with my mom’s research that she _disappeared_, and if it means I have to expose all of Shido’s connections, I’ll put my life on the line for it. I want you two to have to put _everything_ into this, be 100% with me on this case.”

Silence passed by them for a minute. Akira only glanced at his phone for a brief split-second before his eyes landed on Futaba once more.

“I’m game,” he said, the determination in his voice reflected in the look of his eyes. “He’s going to be the next one.”

Futaba would give him a curt nod, before turning to face Morgana.

“Morgana?”

A smile crept up the man’s cheeks, his teeth showing through his lips before he laughed. It was like he’d been told a joke.

“I’m with you and Akira to the end. I’m in.”

* * *

**You (sent 02:37)  
hey.**

* * *

He shifted to lay on his left side, none but darkness surrounding him except for the light of his phone in his face.

* * *

**You (sent 02:39)  
you free tomorrow? i wanna talk.**

* * *

The typing bubble popped up, almost immediately even. Goro was still awake? 

* * *

**detective prince (sent 02:30)  
Sure.**

**detective prince (sent 02:31)  
I was actually about to ask you the same thing.**

**You (sent 02:32)  
your place or mine?**

**detective prince (sent 02:39)  
Mine. Ann’s going out tomorrow, so I have the apartment to myself.**

**You (sent 02:40)  
ok cool.**

**You (sent 02:42)  
goodnight.**

**detective prince (sent 02:47)  
Goodnight. **

* * *

It was early— if 1 PM was considered early. To a night owl like Akira, it was like going out at a time like 7 AM.

But still, he stood in front of the familiar, white door only labelled 5-B in an apartment building he’d been to only once before. Akira had already rang the buzzer, and would only stand there with hands in his pockets as he waited for Goro to open the door.

Judging by the shadows at the bottom of the entrance, though, he was already there. Akira only waited for the man to compose himself enough to either pull the door open or at least tell Akira that he was coming.

Five minutes passed until he was greeted with Goro’s smiling face, and damn if it didn’t look forced.

“Hey! You’re here awfully early,” Goro would greet, only stepping aside to let Akira into his home again. Akira slipped out of his sneakers by the door and got into the slippers stationed there.

“I wanted to spend time with you.”

Goro rolled his eyes.

“Charmer.”

But then Akira took him by the hand, only guiding him to the sofa in the living room. Once he’d sat down by the pillows, he pulled a quiet Goro down with him until they were sitting just a few inches apart.

“I _know_ something’s been bothering you about me,” Akira stated, eyes trained on those red irises. Goro only made to shake his head, maybe even _too_ eagerly.

“No, nothing’s been wrong. I’ve just been a little out of it lately,” he’d laugh.

Though that laugh eventually faded, only replaced with a sigh and before Akira knew it, Goro had slumped forward until his forehead rested on Akira’s chest, right above where his heart beat.

“I’m sorry about what happened at the park,” Goro muttered, shoulders tensing.

Akira’s hands found their way behind Goro: one on the back of his head, the other starting to rub around his shoulder blade. It wasn’t long until he pulled the man into a tight hug, nose burying into his hair. Goro’s scent (something like vanilla and minty body wash) was something he didn’t think he would miss, but he did.

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

Goro’s hands snaked around his back.

“Spilling everything onto you.”

Akira only made to run his fingers through Goro’s hair, if only in an attempt to soothe him.

“You can tell me anything. I don’t mind.”

There was silence between them for a bit. Goro could take as long as he needed to talk, or even not at all— He didn’t have to reply, was allowed to simply just cling to Akira like the cuddlebug that he was.

Physical affection always seemed to calm Goro down, so Akira would give him just that, if he needed it or wanted him to.

He felt the brunette inhale deeply through his nose, right against his neck. It was as if Goro was trying to breathe in the smell of Akira’s hair then, like Akira was trying to do with him, earlier.

“What am I to you?”

Akira’s hand stopped petting his head—if only for a split-second—as he processed the question. Maybe Goro took that as a sign that he was uncomfortable, because the brunette would only simply pull away and look at the rug beneath their feet. He would’ve chased after the man’s warmth, though decided to simply fumble with a stray thread on the couch with his finger, not wanting to make _him_ feel uncomfortable and awkward.

It was uncertain how much time had passed as Akira turned the words over in his brain, thinking of this and that and what he should redact or what he should keep in his reply. The entire time, Goro was either looking at him, or a spot on the wall behind him.

“To be honest?” Akira would begin, eyes on Goro, “You’re Goro Akechi, an _amazing_ dancer. You’re a nerd who gets obsessed over books and listens to songs with earbuds on _way_ too loudly to be good for your hearing. You’re the guy that says he wants to end conversations but _doesn’t_ when it’s through text, and you’re the person who can’t handle more than a few shots of vodka at a time.

“You’re the Goro that I know that loves talking on the phone and staying up late at night even though you tell me it’s bad for your health. You’re the one who puts the happiness of your friends first before your own needs, and you’re the one I love teasing and laying on the couch with and who’s still cute even if you get mad. You’re..”

Akira could only gulp as he finished.

“You’re someone I can’t lose, no matter what.”

This was as far as he could go to confessing. He couldn’t drag Goro down with him.

Goro seemed just a bit stunned even as a few seconds passed after Akira finished speaking, his eyes glossy though widened, his lips set into a small frown— Though Akira felt like it was one of disappointment or sadness; It was more like a disbelieving frown, like what he’d just heard wasn’t reality, and he refused to believe so.

“So can we _please _go back to how we were? Before we talked at Inokashira? All I want is to be able to talk to you and cuddle with you again without it being awkward,” Akira would try, laughing only a bit when Goro hadn’t spoken.

The most pleasant of surprises came in the form of Goro grabbing the remote for the TV and pushing Akira down by the shoulder onto the cushions, before he himself climbed on top of him and (was that purposefully?) dropping all of his weight on one go onto Akira’s chest.

That knocked the air out of his lungs, though Akira chuckled all the same. One hand already found its way back in Goro’s hair, stroking the soft, chestnut brown locks as the TV turned on and they’d navigated their way to (of course) a Ghibli movie.

“Bad with words, my ass..” he heard Goro mumble, and another laugh bubbled from his throat.

“What? I really _am_.”

The rest of their afternoon was spent on Goro’s couch, soaking in each other’s scent and warmth and the _joy_ they brought each other by simply only being together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DOUBLE UPDATE BO I I IS  
SOMEHOW I WROTE THIS ENTIRE THING IN LIKE ?? SEVEN-ISH HOURS ??? WHA TH EF U C K
> 
> but anyway things got s p ic y w futaba calling out akira's emotionally-repressed ass, and ann is taking i m men s e joy in finding teasing material for goro. we love our best friend duos.
> 
> i still can't believe i managed to finish this tonight holy s h i t
> 
> edit: o h go d im so sorry this was just a mishmash of events, i needed to get them out of the way before the next chapter :'^)) sorry
> 
> listen list !! (songs that got me through this chapter)  
joji - windows  
prelow - mistakes like this  
kalyna rakel - so removed


	16. Track 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a certain friday in september.

**blueberry (sent 05:01)  
fuck how do you wake up this early everyday**

**blueberry (sent 05:02)  
what is this b u l l s h i t**

**blueberry (sent 05:03)  
torture that’s what it is**

**blueberry (sent 05:03)  
it’s so COLD**

**blueberry (sent 05:05)**  
**good morning tho**  
**i hope you guyss are ready for the weekend ;))**

**You (sent 05:08)**  
**Good morning to you too haha**  
**We’re all packed and ready. :) Ann bought two bottles of vodka and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s just for the two days we’re there.**

**You (sent 05:09)  
AND she’s still planning on getting a few packs of beer after we check into the hotel.**

**blueberry (sent 05:10)  
a girl after my own heart <3 so proud**

**blueberry (sent 05:11)**  
**i hate to cut this short sugar but i gotta go and get ready**  
**organisers said we should be there by 7**

**blueberry (sent 05:12)  
i’ll see you later right?**

**You (sent 05:14)  
Maybe.**

**You (sent 05:14)  
I’ll be the one in the skinny jeans. ;)**

**blueberry (sent 05:14)  
sexy**

**blueberry (sent 05:15)  
look out for the hottest dj there ;) **

* * *

Goro could only snicker before dropping his phone onto the mattress. Early morning sunshine streamed in from above him through the rectangular windows near the ceiling of his bedroom, and as he made to stand up and stretch upwards, the dancer could only let out a content sigh, allowing his lips curl up into a smile. The air was getting colder already with autumn starting to settle in, but still, the sunlight felt warm on his cheeks.

Lately, _everything_ has felt just a little warmer, looked just a little brighter and more colourfully _vibrant_.

The months passed by in a blink of an eye, and before he knew it, September rolled around. Things had been going _extremely_ well for Goro since he’d made up with Akira, and he only found that their bond grew ever deeper, and ever stronger, with each day they spent by each other’s side.  
They’d have afternoons only pressing against each other, conversations at late night that would nearly last till sunrise, even times that they’d only climb into bed together and have quiet talks about— well, about _anything_.

At one point, Goro had even elaborated on the truth about his fear of loss and abandonment. Of course, it was easy to connect it back to his mother, and the man was quick to reassure him once more that Goro was _just_ as important to Akira, as Akira was to Goro— And though he wasn’t exactly ready yet to give the exact details regarding his past relationships, he’d told the man as much, too.

“Messy relationships,” he called it, at the time. That night, Akira only hugged him close until they fell asleep, and Goro was grateful that he already knew it was just the thing that would make the numb ache in his chest pass— That Akira’s warmth and the smell of coffee that clung to his clothes would make Goro’s mind settle down.

But sometimes, Goro couldn’t even tell apart which of his shirts were Akira’s, or which of Akira’s shirts were _his_. It was becoming quite the problem, and _especially_ when Goro was looking for a specific top, only to find that it wasn’t in his closet.  
Hell, with the amount of clothes they borrowed from each other (after a number of occasions when they spent the night at each other’s homes,) maybe about half of Akira’s wardrobe was in Goro’s closet, and vice versa. He’d even seen Akira wear some of his old sweater-vests on more than one occasion, and it was _amusing_, to say the least.

Hopefully, though, Akira had enough of his clothes to last the weekend. He’d need them for Ultra Japan.

At this early in the morning, their apartment remained still and quiet. Ann wouldn’t be getting up for another hour at the earliest, so Goro only made to step out into living room then to the balcony with bare feet, before he picked up the small water can set at the low shelf to the left end. Once all his potted plants and succulents were sufficiently watered, Goro would leave the gardening tool back in its place and lean against the railing with his forearms.

The chilly morning air made his nostrils dry up, but it was still nice to simply _breathe_ and let the breeze pass through his hair. Above his head, the sky was still a canvas painted with different shades of oranges, pinks, and reds as the sun continued on its slow ascent. From a ways away, he could still catch the songs of early birds singing around the quiet neighbourhood.

Goro smiled. He could miss a few minutes of his cycling for this.

But alas, he was starting to get goosebumps up his arms from the cold. It wasn’t very long until he decided to go back inside and change out of his sleeping attire into something more suited for cycling.

Goro would pocket his phone before picking up his keys from atop the dresser in his bedroom, and after shutting the front door of their apartment, he’d jog down the steps until he reached the bottom floor.

Once he unchained his bicycle from its usual parking space, he climbed on and rode away.

Yongen-jaya had been the first of his spots to cycle by for weeks now, and though it was too early to have coffee at Leblanc (because Boss never opened until 7 in the morning, at the earliest) he still enjoyed roaming the area, seeing the familiar landmarks, and exploring little nooks and crannies he’d never noticed before— He even stumbled upon a clinic there, one time.

But one could only circle the neighbourhood so many times until he looked either _suspicious_ or _lost_, so Goro went straight ahead to Shibuya and would pass by his usual routes there.

As he took a break after half an hour of going around the station and the lanes around it, he’d pause: only parked beside the pavement, he’d crane his neck up at the trains above his head once he heard the telltale sound of its engines and wheels on the tracks.

Was Akira in one of those trains, or had he left earlier? He _did_ say that he had to get to Odaiba by 7 AM, and the commute (even by train) to the hotel he was staying in took around an hour. If worse came to worse, Akira would be commuting for up to a whole _five _hours transferring through a number of lines and walking the rest of the way (but that was according to Google Maps, anyway.)

Thinking of that, Goro had taken out his phone and angled the camera up to the train, only snapping a quick picture before he sent it to Akira.

* * *

**You (sent 06:37)  
(You sent a photo.)**

* * *

There wasn’t any real reason for Goro to do that, and even he himself couldn’t fathom why he felt the sudden need to send something to Akira. In the back of his head, he weighed between adding a witty remark or something as a follow-up message, but would only tuck his phone into his pocket in the end.

Climbing back onto his bicycle, he’d roam the rest of Shibuya for a bit more before he decided to head home.

“Oh hey! Good morning!” Ann greeted, just as Goro had stepped in through the door.

The woman was already dressed for their day at the studio, her backpack set on the floor beside her feet. She sat on one of the stools at the breakfast bar with rice cakes on a plate in front of her—one in her hands—as she peered over to Goro in the hallway.

Goro only smiled and waved, before heading straight to the cupboards in the kitchen, only in search for a mug and a packet of instant coffee. He could just snag a rice cake from Ann, or he could duck into the convenience store near the studio for breakfast before class began.

“You got everything packed yet?” Goro only inquired, right as he set the electric kettle on the counter to boil.

Ann hummed.

“Mhm. Shiho’s coming by with her bags before 7 tonight, so we can still get there on schedule. I put our tickets in my wallet just so we don’t leave without them.”

“Taking my advice, I see,” he chuckled, “What was the name of the hotel you booked again? Grand Nikko?”

Goro could only jump just _slightly_ at the woman’s outburst. 

“I was lucky to even get us a reservation! A _lot_ of the people going to Ultra booked that hotel too!”

After simply casting her a look of amusement over his shoulder, Goro laughed again as he poured the water into his mug. He brought it over to the breakfast counter before circling around and taking the stool beside Ann.

As he stirred the instant coffee in his cup, his friend only munched on the rice cakes.

“Hey, did Akira tell you what hotel he’s staying at yet? He wouldn’t tell me.”

A pout, and Goro made to sip at his coffee before he shook his head with a smile on his cheeks.

_Not as good as Leblanc’s.._

“He said it was a surprise.”

The look that Ann gave him was openly inquisitive, _suspicious_ even. She’d paused from taking another bite of her food, and Goro took the chance to slip his hand past her arm, plucking a rice cake for himself.

“And you’re in on it,” she accused, voice low and even— the embodiment of a pout.

Taking a bite into his rice cake, Goro would only shrug as if unawares.

“Am I?”

It was in the exact moment when Ann had opened her mouth for a retort, did Goro feel his phone buzz. His ringtone played quietly—muffled by the fabric of his shorts— in the space of their apartment, and he would slip it out into view with the hand not holding his food.

“Who’s texting you this early?” she asked, though it was an obvious rhetoric. They both knew who would (and already _has_,) texted him at earlier hours of the day.

Not even needing to look at the ID, Goro went to the chat log. 

* * *

**blueberry (sent 07:45)  
(blueberry sent a photo.) **

* * *

Any text from Akira could make a smile creep up Goro’s cheeks, but his reply to the photo of the trains from earlier was.. _intimate-feeling_, in a complicated sort of way.  
It was a nice view of the Rainbow Bridge above Tokyo Bay, though the faint reflections in front of the spectacle made it clear that Akira had taken the photo from within a room, through the window. From the lower left corner of the frame, Goro could see the edges of Akira’s grey coat, and maybe if he squinted hard enough, he could faintly make out the man’s hand holding his phone through the glass of the window. 

* * *

**blueberry (sent 07:45)  
the view up here is amazing**

**blueberry (sent 07:46)  
but not as amazing as your eyes <3 <3 <3 **

* * *

While Goro snickered, Ann had groaned— Prolongedly. She slumped onto his side, eyes sharp as she stared down at the messages. The _deep_, highly-exaggerated inhale she took in didn’t go unnoticed by Goro, and maybe that was the point.

“Why do you still think he doesn’t have a crush on you?”

The tone in her voice was unamused, and maybe even a little bit _frustrated_, but Goro still shrugged as his thumbs went across the keys.

* * *

**You (sent 07:47)  
You should save that line for the guy you like haha.**

* * *

“Because he’s said so himself a _lot_ of times already that we’re just _friends_?” Goro shrugged again, nonchalantly even. Deep within his chest, though, his heart prickled.

His little crush on Akira hadn’t exactly _faded_ yet, per se— If anything, it only grew stronger. Akira’s affectionate nature and his understanding and patience with Goro’s bullshit made it hard not to fall even deeper for him, made it hard for his heart not to swell and dance in that triple-time waltz whenever Akira so much as _looked_ at him.

Goro was a _mess_, and maybe a part of him _wanted_ to believe Ann’s insistence on the identity of Akira’s crush being him, but at the same time _“friends”_ would serve as a constant reminder of where he stood in Akira’s life.

They were just.. affectionate and deeply-caring friends. Those exist.

That was what Goro told himself.

His phone buzzed again. 

* * *

**blueberry (sent 07:48)  
i have TONS of lines for him and the ones i’ve told you are only a small fraction of it :)**

**blueberry (sent 07:48)**  
**good luck in class later**  
**you too ann!! (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و **

* * *

“See, he’s sweet to you, too.”

Ann only responded by (aggressively) digging her chin into his shoulder, to which Goro could only tense up at because _why does it have to be his shoulder._

But it wasn’t even very surprising anymore that Akira knew he was with Ann. Aside from knowing that they were roommates, Ann has proven herself to be nosy to the hundred percent when it came to _Goro_— Countless times, actually.

Akira already knew that she read his texts, too— But she meant well, and Goro loved her.

If he ever had a sister, he imagined that she would be someone like Ann: Hyper to his calm; Cheery to his usual gloom; Able to pull a smile up his cheeks and there for him as much as she could in the midst of life, unafraid to tell him the things he didn’t want to hear but _needed _to.  
He could really only wonder if her insistence that Akira liked him was one of those things, but Goro preferred that it wasn’t true.

Maybe it was just because he couldn’t fully believe it himself, or maybe because he thought that he didn’t deserve it.. Didn’t deserve _Akira Kurusu_.

Either way, Akira would never be his, but being friends was fine enough. Goro just had to wait it out until his feelings numbed and he could be fully comfortable with the fact that they’re nothing more than mere friends, maybe even laugh one day about how he had a stupid crush on Akira.

Goro only sighed, though a small smile still retained on his lips as he stared down at the brown coffee circling his mug.

_These feelings will fade soon enough._

* * *

Clapping to the beat, heart racing, and sweat sticking and trickling down his body from head to toe, Goro leaned against the wall beside the mirror. His eyes were cast nowhere else but the last few groups that danced his newest choreography in front of the camera.

The day sped by quickly, and Goro had powered through his classes with none but excitement for the weekend in his mind— It might’ve been what made the hours feel like minutes, honestly.  
Before he could even take a deep breath at the start of the day, he realised he was at his final class, at the last few minutes before he wrapped it up and he could go home with Ann.

Still, though, his smile would never falter as he taught the dancers, as he watched them move to the beat of the music and dance because they were _born_ to.

Goro’s gaze only shifted from the centre of the room (where the last group was _killing it_,) to the glass door, after some movement caught his eye. On the other side, tufts of golden hair were tied up into a messy-looking ponytail, a pair of eyes catching his.  
Ann waved up at him with a bright smile on her cheeks, her bag hanging on one shoulder. She was sweaty—much like Goro himself—and she’d wrapped her flannel to her waist, no doubt because she wanted to avoid getting even hotter than she already was from dancing so much.

Her class had finished earlier than his, if she were outside already.

After the last group had finished with different poses, Goro would focus back on them and applaud, proud still. A bit later, the entirety of his class settled back into their spots with their bags, and he’d only give his closing remarks with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, bow, then thank them for their hard work.

Goro’s mind was already at Odaiba Ultra Park, but he still wanted to be as present as he could where he was, at least.

Hugging and taking pictures and receiving compliments sped by quick enough before all of his students had trickled out of the room, which left way for Ann to come striding in and grab Goro by the arm before he could even pull the zipper of his backpack all the way.

The blue pools of her irises shined with excitement as she half-dragged him out of the studio.

“Are you ready for Ultra?!” she’d cheer, and Goro could only do none but laugh and nod.

“Ultra doesn’t start until _tomorrow_.”

A jab to his arm.

“Are you ready to have some fun for the weekend?!” Ann tried again, with only as much enthusiasm as before.

The sound of trains rang from the tracks above, and after taking a deep breath, he nodded, smile curling up from the corners of his lips.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

* * *

After having returned home, the two of them would take turns using the shower and get dressed, only waiting for Shiho to ring the buzzer before they would set off.

Being the ever-responsible adult between the two of them, Goro would double-check both _his_ bag and _Ann’s_ bag for everything they needed. As he went through their stuff, he’d check off the mental list in his head, starting from the things that held most importance: For example, the VIP 2-day Ultra Japan tickets Akira had promised them.

Turns out, they in fact _weren’t_ in Ann’s wallet, and were sitting on the woman’s vanity dresser. Goro decided to keep them himself, just in case.  
One could never be _too_ careful, after all, and he didn’t want to commute back another hour just to grab their tickets before the festival officially began.

As all three of them sat on a train on the Ginza line (just about halfway to their destination,) Goro would only pay attention to his phone, right as the group chat blew up with messages. Beside him sat Ann and Shiho, though they didn’t seem to be too interested in the conversation their gang was having, judging by how they were excitedly chattering about the festival between one another.

Goro would only watch the messages come in, not daring to play music on his earbuds lest they might just miss their stop. 

* * *

**deadmau5 (sent 19:17)  
(deadmau5 sent a photo.)**

**deadmau5 (sent 19:17)  
all of the djs are having dinner together and ya boy made a friend**

**runningman (sent 19:18)  
NICE**

**green goblin (sent 19:18)  
GET ME AUTOGRAPHS**

**green goblin (sent 19:18)  
DUDE IS THAT DJ JO THO OMG OMG OMG**

**paint me like 1 of ur french girls (sent 19:19)  
Good luck on your show tomorrow, Akira!**

**paint me like 1 of ur french girls (sent 19:20)  
I’m looking forward to seeing the theme of the festival this year, as well as the aesthetics of your stage.**

**deadmau5 (sent 19:20)**  
**i’ll send pics**  
**(deadmau5 sent a sticker.) **

* * *

Tucking his phone away seemed like a good option then (considering that it was just the usual banter and all) if not for..

* * *

**runningman (sent 19:20)  
goro stop seen’ing us**

**runningman (sent 19:20)  
WE KNOW YOU’RE HERE LMAO **

**green goblin (sent 19:21)  
o shit he here**

**green goblin (sent 19:21)  
ONE OF U S**

**green goblin (sent 19:21)  
O N E O F U S. **

* * *

Goro sat back in his seat, a sly little smile pulling up his cheeks. He would only keep watching the messages pop up in short intervals, maybe try to see how far they would go to coerce him to respond as the train turned and ran along the tracks. 

* * *

**green goblin (sent 19:22)  
bitch come on you’re one of us**

**green goblin (sent 19:22)  
don’t SEEN US like this pancake boy**

**green goblin (sent 19:22)  
after a l l we’ve been through ???**

**runningman (sent 19:23)  
GORO**

**runningman (sent 19:23)  
IF YOU RESPOND I WILL ORDER YOU BREAKFAST PANCAKES. **

* * *

He brought up the keyboard on his screen, though would only type one or two words before backspacing them completely. It wasn’t anything meaningful, more along the lines of giving them hope of his response.

One side of him felt a little thrilled and cunning at this little prank (?); the other just plain enjoyed the gang blowing up over him not chiming in with the conversation. It was such a small thing and it was so _stupid_, but that was where the fun came from.

Though his eyes would only widen just _slightly_ at the next few messages. 

* * *

**deadmau5 (sent 19:24)  
RESPOND**

**deadmau5 (sent 19:24)  
KING’S ORDERS ;)) **

* * *

His lips pursed, though they still pulled up into a smile. What were they going to do, blackmail him until he typed something out? 

* * *

**deadmau5 (sent 19:25)  
(deadmau5 sent a photo.) **

* * *

Okay, so he spoke too soon. He was lucky to catch himself before he yelped in the public vehicle.

The photo that Akira had sent the group chat was none but Goro, completely unawares as he slept whilst hugging one of Akira’s pillows on his bed. His hair was a mess, the brown locks simply splayed all over the red sheets as one side of his face buried into the pillow, pushing up his cheek and making him look just a bit dopier than he actually did.

Maybe the worst part of it? He was wearing Akira’s shirt.

Another message popped up.

* * *

**deadmau5 (sent 19:25)  
there’s more where that came from **

**deadmau5 (sent 19:25)  
CHECKMATE B I T C H.**

**You (sent 19:25)  
I’m sending you Featherman spoilers.**

**green goblin (sent 19:25)  
HE’S HERE**

**green goblin (sent 19:26)  
FLOOD THE CHAT WITH PANCAKE PICS**

**deadmau5 (sent 19:26)  
(deadmau5 sent a photo.) **

* * *

Of _course_, it was another photo of Goro asleep. Just how many pictures of him unconscious does/did Akira take?

Before he could type out a response, though, a voice from the overhead speakers announced their _soon arrival to Shimbashi Station _and repeating once more. Goro made to pocket his phone in favour of retrieving his duffel bag from the metal shelves above the seats of the train— And he would do that, but not without the image of Ryuji’s latest text seared into his mind’s eye: what he saw _just_ before the screen faded to an inactive black. 

* * *

**runningman (sent 19:27)  
wait aren’t those akira’s clothes **

* * *

Goro opted not to even _look_ at the group chat anymore for the rest of their way to the Grand Nikko Hotel in Odaiba, if only for the sake of not dwelling on what the blonde had said _too_ much. He could probably explain it easily enough once they got settled into their lodgings for the weekend. It was a _simple explanation_.

_Yeah._

They’d transferred lines after getting off Shimbashi, and after boarding a train that would take them pretty much right in front of the hotel, Goro would only keep his phone in his pocket and look out the windows of the train.

He was glad that he did.

Rainbow Bridge, under the dark blanket of night, lit up completely and vibrantly with its wide spectrum of colours. The lights spread and reflected off the waters of Tokyo Bay as ferries and smaller boats rode across the water, and Goro couldn’t help but admire the beautiful spectacle of lights and life with a smile on his cheeks and with stars in his eyes.

He thought that Yusuke would appreciate this sort of thing, and that maybe he and Futaba would enjoy exuberant talks about art and games together by the edges of the water— But before all that, the forefront first thought that’d popped into his head, gazing at the cityscape and the dazzling lights of the bridge, was how _beautifully_ the colours would reflect and dance off of Akira’s dark eyes.

Goro just imagined those obsidian irises, layered with flecks and specks of reds, and blues, and yellows and every other colour of the rainbow decorating the glassy surface. He thought about how they’d bounce off of the pitch black of his eyes, how they’d compliment his dark hair and his bright (though _exceedingly_ cocky) smile.

But that was an allure only Akira had, and it was hard to be annoyed at him whenever he’d flash that same smile at Goro after cracking a _terrible_ pun or a cheesy, overdone joke or pick-up line.

He held out hope— Maybe he would come to see such a sight during their stay in Odaiba.

* * *

“Wow.”

He could agree with Shiho. _Wow_, indeed.

Stepping into the hotel lobby, Goro could only let his eyes roam around the big space with a slightly-gaping mouth and with his heart just a _tiny _bit giddy.

The big room was circular, with the floor and high pillars made of polished, white marble. As soon as he stepped one foot into the lobby, the first thing that caught Goro’s eye was the art piece (something that resembled a minimalistic tree with white, metallic strands poking upwards) that doubled as a light source, which sat on a small, elevated part of the floor at the very centre. It was right below the big dome-shaped ceiling, which boasted of warm lights that brightened the space below.

The furnishings of the lobby seemed to follow an authentic vintage theme, with many of the chairs, tables, mirrors and décor romantic-esque but with that defining touch of modernism.  
The colour palette of just the entrance boasted of calming whites, beiges and browns, which complimented the warm tones of the lights from small chandeliers lined up and hanging from the ceiling.

Goro was still quite stunned with wonder at the interior design of Grand Nikko when he managed to pull himself back to reality, enough to drag his two companions along until they found the reception desk. They couldn’t be late for their reservation now, pretty interior décor be damned.

He took a quick glance down at the wristwatch on his right wrist.

The hands pointed at _07:58_. They were right on time.

As Ann and Shiho went up to the receptionists, Goro felt his phone vibrate once more. He was quick to slip it out of his pocket and silence the thing before his ringtone could even play the first _note_ in the echo-y halls.

On the lockscreen, a number of messages from the group chat lined the notification bar, and he’d soon realise that the latest text he’d gotten wasn’t even from the group— Instead, **blueberry** stared up at him with a new message. 

* * *

**blueberry (sent 20:00)  
did you guys just get here??**

* * *

Goro only made to look up and turn his head left and right, eyes darting from spot to spot as he searched for Akira. If he was asking that, then it must mean that the man was somewhere nearby to have seen them.

* * *

**You (sent 20:01)  
Yup. Where are you?**

**blueberry (sent 20:02)  
oh my god you really are wearing skinny jeans**

**You (sent 20:02)  
???**

**You (sent 20:02)  
Where are you stalking me from, you creep**

* * *

Though the lobby earlier had been mostly-quiet (naught but slow piano music and faint footfalls ringing throughout the space from somewhere) Goro soon heard a group of footsteps walk around the marble floor, heels clicking here and there. The noise only got closer and closer to the reception desk, and Goro briefly wondered if they were a group like his, here for Ultra Japan and looking to check in, too.

As the steps rounded the corner, Goro could make out semi-formally, semi-casually dressed men and women in a relatively-large group— Some Japanese, and some unmistakeably foreign.

They passed by him, talking amongst themselves and paying him no mind as they headed for the elevators at the end of the hall. Goro was about to look back down onto his phone after eyeing the group for a bit, if only it weren’t for a particular man making him stop, stare, and almost forget how to _breathe_.

Black hair—so incredibly curly and unruly—was gelled down by the sides, only leaving a messy fringe to fall on the right side of his forehead and frame his face in such a _perfect _way that it was almost _unreal_; Instead of a t-shirt or a sweater, he was wearing a simple, white dress shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbows and with the top two buttons undone, collars popped up, collarbones showing slightly; The black slacks on his legs only accentuated his lithe, lean figure, with broad shoulders and a tapered torso that now looked only _more_ pronounced; Finally, as if to complete the look, he was wearing formal black shoes with thick, inch-high heels that left faint clicks on the marble floor after each step he made.

Goro squinted, zeroing in on his right ear. Was that a black earring?

Time slowed for just a _second_ when Akira turned his head and gave him a smile as he’d walked by— one that was _sly_ and _exuding_ seduction—and _fuck_ was it hot even with those fake glasses.

Goro was an absolute fucking _mess_ because of that look.

When he passed by, Goro couldn’t help his eyes from memorising every inch of that _ass_ perfectly-shaped and perfectly-framed by those black slacks because _goddammit_ was Akira hot.

Even as he stood in the elevator with the group he was with—looking _straight_ at Goro with a _smirk_ playing on his lips—Goro didn’t take his eyes off of Akira, only now angling back up to those _dark_, pitch black irises. It was only the closing of the lift doors that broke the trance he was captured in, that made him suck in a deep breath because sometime during checking out Akira, he’d stopped _breathing_.

His phone buzzed with a reply.

* * *

**blueberry (sent 20:07)  
** **28th Floor. Room at the end on the right. That’s where I am.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey lmao i know i been gone a while but there's a reason  
like i said on my twitter ([@relictionism](https://twitter.com/relictionism) bc shameless plug lmao) i wanted to take the week to focus on writing the beginning of this arc(??) in m&m  
and after i've done all the chapters, kinda just upload them one per day just so y'all have something before i get into that school year schedule so here it is !! track 15 !!!
> 
> things are going to get hella s p i c y up in here tho y'all buckle the fuck up kiddos  
see you for tomorrow's update
> 
> i can't remember what the heck i was listening to while writing this but i have a feeling it was fake love (bts), friends (chase atlantic) and just a whole lotta two door cinema club so yeah for whoever actually listens to what i list down lmao


	17. Track 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a weekend at a music festival ('a' side.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ultra japan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eH33ol5CtKQ)

Only three things rang in Akira Kurusu’s ears in that moment: One, were the _thousands_ of voices screaming, yelling, _cheering_; Two, the music that was about to come to an explosive end; Three, the rapid heartbeats pounding in his head— Or maybe that was the beat of the song. He wasn’t sure.

All he knew was that he was looking over a mass of people (_far _larger than he’d ever played for) moving under the darkness of night, only ever so briefly illuminated by all the lights and the pyrotechnics and the screens around them.

Still, as he stood backstage—evening out his breathing, calming his heart, slipping on the metaphorical mask to be _Joker_—one thing remained in his mind: Red eyes, staring at him with an oh-so-obvious hunger the night before, when he and Goro had seen each other for only the fleetest of seconds in the hotel lobby.

Those same red eyes kept him up all night—singed into his subconscious and refusing to leave—and Akira wasn’t very proud this time to say that he’d gone to bed at three in the morning on the day of his show.

It was Saturday, day one of Ultra Japan. Joker wasn’t meant to play until the later hours, when the sun had set completely and the night loomed over their heads. Even so, the lights and energy of the festival could keep everyone there up till past closing time— as if that were even a remote concern in a large-scale music festival.

Akira had awoken at about one in the afternoon earlier, and wasn’t very surprised to find that he wasn’t even the latest to awake. After all, some of them had too much to drink the night before after their group dinner, claiming that they could go perform through a hangover.

One could say that was iconic, _inspirational_. From what Akira had heard through acquaintances met, they did well, too.

Still, as he got ready for the show—showered, dressed, gloves on his hands, red highlights sprayed onto his hair—he wouldn’t hear from one Goro Akechi: No texts, no calls, just a mark beside his last message that signified Goro had seen it.

And the last time this had happened, was when Goro showed up to his club looking like a whole _meal_ with skin showing and with a fire in his eyes that burned for something _carnal_.

Akira tried contacting Ann (to no avail) and then, Shiho (whose phone was also mysteriously unreachable.)

They were ignoring him— That, or they either left their phones in their hotel room or lost them in the crowd. Ultra Japan held mosh pits, large groups of people, and adrenaline levels would be high just _being_ there while absorbing everyone’s excitement and energy. No one would be faulted if they got a little scatterbrained at an event like this.

Even so, it didn’t leave Akira’s mind as he made his way towards the actual site of the festival.

Odaiba Ultra Park was just a five-minute walk away from Grand Nikko, and even from across the street, Akira could already see the sea of people around the entrance and going through the gate at the front of the park.  
Once inside the vicinity, he’d make his way through the park centre before taking a sharp right turn by the pathways into an entrance reserved for the DJs of the event. It was a quick badge-flash and he was let in by the security stationed at the entrance, and afterwards he’d make his way to the little trailer where the rest of his Resistance Stage performers were lounging about near the actual area.

Ultra Japan was divided into three sections: There was the Ultra Main Stage, the Resistance Stage, and the Live Stage.

The Live Stage was where up-and-coming DJ’s were going to perform. It was the smallest stage out of the entire festival but it was nothing to scoff at, considering the reputation of the Ultra Music Festivals upheld in the world of DJs and music producers. It was where new blood would get to show their stuff, have their popularity boost just being able to play there, and make themselves known to the scene.  
Next, was the Resistance Stage. It was bigger than the Live Stage, but no match compared to the Ultra Main Stage, and was where Joker was invited to DJ at. It was where underground artists would get to rise up and play for fans old and new, along with garnering a larger following with the amount of people roaming the area.  
Finally, the Ultra Main Stage. It was so big that it had half of the park to itself, where the big-name artists played and rocked the festival. Only world-famous DJs were going to perform on the Ultra Main Stage, the ones who’d been at the top of the game for years.

The one time Akira had gone to Ultra Japan as a watcher years prior, he’d caught sight of the biggest DJs in the world of music production on the Ultra Main Stage. It was no joke to be able to play on it, to _that_ large of a crowd— One that took over half of the entire venue.

One day Joker would get to play there. He just had to work harder.

But now, he was climbing up the stairs to the Resistance Stage, passing by the last DJ who’d just finished her set. Akira only offered the woman a bright smile and a “Good job” in his barely-decent English, before taking a deep breath.

The screens and lights all around them dyed the audience in bright red, displaying front and centre his logo— a little something Yusuke had whipped up for him, a mask with flames protruding from its right side underneath a tophat.

Akira could hear voices chant his stage name, a chorus of _Joker_ echoing throughout the air.

He exhaled, slow and steady, before jogging up to the equipment at the front of the stage. A large smile pulled up from the corners of his lips—teeth showing, confidence incarnate—as he made to pick up the microphone and wave an arm up to the masses.

“_Hello_ Ultra Japan!”

Cheers met him, louder than before, _roaring_ with excitement. Joker set one hand on the mixer before him, pressing play on a beat before he put the mic down.

For a brief second, he saw himself back in The Metaverse with the audience dancing whilst bathed in the filter of red strobelights— Except if The Metaverse were on a _much_ larger scale. 

To the tempo, he’d begin bobbing his head, and after some build-up, Joker would add snares, then the melody, and then bass— He was slowly, surely, forming a song more _deep house_ and _clublike_ to start off his show.  
He’d decided on this a month prior when he was planning what to do, that he would begin his set with an original of his own before simply mixing together his favourite tracks from his favourite artists.

With one side of his headphones pressed to his right ear, it was almost deafening how loudly all the sounds and noises blended together and roared around him— all the cheering, the music already blaring throughout the air, the track in his headphones that he was planning on playing next. For a second, with his hands on the knobs of his mixer, his mind lost in his element, Joker would glance over the crowd and think that this was simply, essentially, playing for a club indeed.

(It made it easier for his brain to catch up with the fact that he was actually standing on the _Resistance Stage_, of all things.)

But then he made the mistake of letting his eyes roam the sea of outstretched hands and shifting bodies, and it wasn’t too long until he caught sight of a particular gaze boring straight at him from the front row.

Joker’s breath hitched in his throat, knew that his pulse spiked not for no reason.

Those strikingly-red irises of the dancer’s seemed only more intense under the coloured lights, under even the brief darkness that washed over them as he looked to nowhere but Joker.  
Goro’s stare spelled of an expectance—as if he were challenging the DJ on _something_—and whatever it was only made a smirk creep up one side of Joker’s lips.

But it was just a quick glance, only a fleeting few seconds of eye contact that felt like an eternity before Goro was back to dancing, loose though languid in his movements.

Joker turned up the tempo knob, free hand bringing the microphone close to his lips again. Those pair of red eyes would constantly shoot glances at him, so he only made to return the stare with as much ferocity when the DJ yelled into his mic, bass drop building up at a rapid pace.

“Show me your true form!”

All at once, his heartrate exploded.  
Joker had jumped out of habit as the song reached its apex, grin stretched across his cheeks and pupils blown wide with a cocktail of emotions swimming in his head— There was excitement, adrenaline, and maybe even the tiniest hint of _arousal_ at the sight of Goro’s eyes narrowing at him, Goro’s perfectly plump and pink lips curling up into a smirk.

On his spot at the stage, standing above the crowd, Joker could only bask in the glory and let himself be carried by the energy and the vibes, the cheers and the delighted yells. He was dancing a bit, if only by the way his shoulders shifted, the way he’d let his body bob to the beat whilst his hands remained on the board spread across him. Fire danced in front of his eyes, the flames shooting up from where pyrotechnicians had set their devices on the stage, the strobelights from all around flashing in different colours and sequenced patterns with each note that rang out into the space.

If you told a fourteen-year-old Akira Kurusu that he would be DJ-ing at one of the biggest music festivals in the world, he’d only deem you crazy.

But it was _exactly_ how he thought it would be like, _more_ even.  
At the start of his career in DJ-ing and music production, Akira would never have thought that Joker would take off and get as popular as he did— After all, it was just a little stint in middle school messing with his computer on some mixing studio website. The _uploading his music to the internet_ part was just so the files wouldn’t take up space in his computer, though it was still partly for the shits and giggles regarding the entire situation.

He could even remember thinking then, _“Wouldn’t it be crazy if I got famous because of this stupid hobby?”_

Funny, how life worked like that.

If he weren’t a DJ, Akira’s parents would’ve forced him either into some office job or to become a classical pianist— Like _that _would really keep the flame of his soul burning. In a way, he was grateful for the incident which forced him out into Tokyo. If not for that, the paths he’d taken would have been _drastically_ different.

He would never have become neither Joker _nor _Arsene: He wouldn’t be the man that made people dance to the beat of his drum, nor the one that made _something_ out of the prodigal musician his parents made him seem to be; He wouldn’t be the criminal that managed to save countless lives, the thief that stole information for the sake of justice.  
Akira would never have become who he was; would probably have stayed as the quiet, reserved kid that let himself get hit and used and puppeteered to the end of his days— He would never have gotten to meet the people he did, the family he loved now, the friends who’d stuck with him shoulder to shoulder, even the mistakes that taught him how to grow as a person.

Moving to (and staying in) Tokyo was the deciding factor in his life, the thing that chewed him up and spat out the Akira Kurusu who built himself a new life, who pursued the hobby he grew to love as a career, who was headbanging to the songs he played at a music festival he never thought he could play at and who was too-obviously casting too many glances at a certain chestnut-haired dancer he fancied _far_ more than he ever fancied anyone.

It was like that for the entirety of his set.

When Joker had come to the final song in his show, he felt as if he were _bathing_ in his sweat.  
His throat felt rough, voice overused, cheeks feeling sore with all the grinning and smiling he’d done (he couldn’t help himself) and he could practically feel the blood flowing through his hands to the tips of his fingers with how tingly they’d felt.

Maybe it was the high of performance getting to him, but it was more possibly because he’d done well for himself even _getting_ to Ultra Japan. Joker had even managed to avoid any obvious slip-ups in his set while he was mixing and (beat)matching the songs in his list, so it was all a win for him.

As the final note of his last song rang into the air, Joker would only throw his hands up with his arms spread and a grin riding high on his face right as all the lights had cut off.  
Slowly, from the jumbotron behind him, the Resistance Stage was bathed in the signature deep red of Joker’s leather gloves, and from the other, smaller screens around the canopy-like structure above their heads, he watched as that same shade of red appear along with his logo.

It was only when the beating that thumped loud in his ears died down did he register the applause of the audience he’d just performed to. Joker let his hands and arms fall to their natural places, in that theatrical showman bow he always did after a performance.

All in one instance, the screens had cut off once more, only leaving them in a pitch-black darkness as Joker made to exit backstage. He passed by the staff and the DJs who lingered congratulating him on a successful set (which Akira could only nod and bow in thanks for) as he set on his way back to the trailer.

Akira needed a breather before he headed to his hotel room again— Maybe for some water, maybe to let his heart settle down as he willed the tingling sensation blooming across his chest to dissipate.

It was easy to guess why he still felt giddy and _high_, even as he sat down on one of the couches in the trailer with a bottle of water in hand— He’d just made his debut to a larger audience, maybe even got his name out there outside of Japan to a _lot_ more people; He’d just played on _the Resistance Stage_, in a festival he’s dreamt of performing at for _years_; His phone just rang and it was with that certain ringtone that always brought him nothing but joy and—

_Hold up._

Wait, Goro was calling him.

Akira fished out his phone from his pocket. 

Goro Akechi was _calling _him!

“Hey!” Akira greeted, screen pressed to his ear. He was already aware of how much joy practically _oozed_ out of his voice.

And then he heard Goro chuckle, and it just made the smile on his cheeks widen.

_“I have to admit, that was quite the show.”_

“I’m happy you enjoyed it.”

Akira took a swig of his water, eyes casting over to the wall clock across from him. It was already closing time of day one of the festival, so there really weren’t any acts for him to catch up to.

On the other end of the line, he heard muffled voices come to and fro. Goro must be trying to exit the park already, but maybe he can still get a dinner with the three of them before they got back to the hotel.

_“Where are you?”_

“Where are you right now?”

They paused for a beat then, unsure of who should speak again after they’d spoken up _at the same time_. Akira didn’t stop himself from chuckling, would only keep doing so as he heard Goro laugh, too.

“I’m still inside the park, but maybe we can meet up for dinner? Are Ann and Shiho with you?”

_“They told me they would go ahead back to our room. Between you and me, I think they just want a chance to make out without **me **being present,”_

Another laugh, and though it was brief and over the phone, it still held that certain type of warmth and sweetness to it that was unique to only Goro, and Akira almost _swooned_.

_I want a chance to make out with **you**_, his brain supplied in response, almost automatically. Still, he kept it behind his lips, instead settling on,

“Dinner with _you_, then”—he only paused to smile—“We could look up restaurants after I find where you’re at.”

He heard that hum from across the line.

_“Mmm, and if I **don’t** want to tell you where I am? You’re a **stalker**, after all,”_ Goro quipped, tone playful, smile just _audible_.

Akira could only lean back into the cushion of his couch, right before heaving himself up and heading back out the trailer. He’d make his way down a path as he talked.

He can just wander around until he found Goro, or until Goro caved— Whichever came first.

“I’m your number one fan and I wanna meet you!”

Akira decided to play along, turning the corner. He was walking along a public route, amongst the large crowds.

_“I don’t believe I can give you my exact location just because of that. What if you’ll do something **weird**?”_

That _weird_ was pointedly emphasised, to which Akira would only give a scandalised gasp in response to.

He found himself back in the park centre, where the paths converged at a large, circular clearing. There were still groups that lingered about, though he couldn’t quite spot Goro anywhere.

“I would _never_! Not in my dreams!”

There were _so_ many people with phones to their heads. Was Goro still even in the park?

Akira’s eyes still searched, right as Goro hummed once more, though for longer this time.

_“Then tell me what your plan is for tonight, with me.”_

He didn’t miss the nuance of his words, nor the blatant _suggestiveness_ of his tone. Did he get drunk sometime during the festival? Goro was only like this when he was drunk, or so according to Ann.

There was no hesistance in Akira’s voice as he replied,

“I want us to go to a nice restaurant that’s close by and have dinner together, maybe some drinks. After that, I wanna walk along Tokyo Bay with you and talk, see if I can put my arm around you if you’re cold. How’s that sound?”

A puff of warm air against his earlobe, and Akira could only tense up just _slightly_, feel his muscles ready to _throw hands_ if need be.

Instead, when he turned his head, he was pleasantly surprised by warm, red eyes staring back at him, an award-winning smile playing on Goro’s lips as he still held his phone up to his ear.

“Sounds great.” 

* * *

Of course, after googling some establishments near them, Akira had picked out a nice little late-night restaurant joint at the farther side of their hotel. Though he’d been the one to bring it up, it was still Goro that’d insisted they go there, despite the distance and the walk.

Maybe it was just Akira, but it was nice to know that they’d wouldn’t _immediately_ be getting back to the hotel.

Still, with the cold air of a mid-September’s night, it was a bit insensible for Goro to wear _just_ a thin t-shirt and ripped jeans, so Akira really _did_ get to do that arm-around-the-shoulders thing. It was just a casual thing among two close friends, it was _fine._

Definitely fine.

_Absolutely _fine.

_Shut up, Akira._

When they’d gotten to the place, they would only find it to be a quaint establishment tucked into the corner of a commercial building.

Even from the exterior outside (with its blue and white faux-canopies above the windows and the pink, cutesy font the name of the restaurant was written with,) to the interior design (something that reminded Akira of a cartoon home with the mocha-ish brown and white striped walls and plush mounted on wooden furniture) it was something that Akira hadn’t expected would be open at a time like 10 PM.

But there they were, sat on a two-person booth within the establishment, and instead of picking out menu food, Goro was distracted by the plastic vines stuck to the frame above the window they were beside. Akira was simply staring at him, cheek against the palm of his hand, eyes only as fond as his smile— Just _admiring_ the way Goro scanned the fake plant(?) with a menu card in his hands.

“Y’know you’re really cute when you’re distracted?” Akira would hum, casually even.

Goro’s gaze fell on him, and he couldn’t be any more pleased when Goro shook his head with a small smile adorning his already-soft features.

_So he’s already used to it._

“You _always_ tell me I’m cute, and it makes me wonder why you haven’t snagged that boy you like yet with _your_ brand of sweet-talk.”

There was a hint of bittersweet in his tone, or the way Goro just said what he said. Internally, Akira could only wallow in being unable to just _say_ it, but he couldn’t now— Not when it was the _prime minister_ of the country they were going after, not when Akira had to infiltrate more dangerous places all for the sake of bringing a conspiracy to light, when there was still a chance that he could fuck it up and something may happen to _him_, or to _Goro_.

He _can’t_, and he shouldn’t be thinking about it either. After all, he was with Goro right now and he could still enjoy soaking in the man’s presence, let himself relax for the moment.

“Here’s a big hint for you, sugar: He’s really dense.”

Goro almost looked offended, so maybe he wasn’t as dense as Akira thought. He could have just read it wrong, though.

“You decide to bring that up _now_?”—a huff, to which Akira chuckled—“_Fine_, fine. He likes holding me.”

Akira only raised a brow, though would only look back down to the menu card in Goro’s hands. He could stall, for a bit.

Besides, all that DJ stuff made him hungry.

“Okay but before we continue this, have you decided on what you wanna order yet?”

His eyes only followed as Goro raised his hand, calling for a waiter.

“I was waiting on _you_ to finish deciding,” Goro said simply, though his lips had tugged up into a pretty smile.

Through dinner, as Akira held his chopsticks in one hand, he’d glance up briefly from his beef bowl and speak up.

“I though you already told me he likes cuddling you?” he asked, feigning a very real expression of confusion.

After all, he was supposed to play the role of _unaware crush_, though Futaba’s words to him still weighed heavily in his mind.  
He can enjoy this for a while longer. Futaba’s voice can go back to the farthest crevices of his head, so he won’t feel guilty about it while he was around Goro.

But it _did_ make Akira guilty— _Immensely_.

He tried to push that away, too, when Goro’s gaze met his eyes.

“I told you he likes cuddling me, not holding me in _general_.” Akira only watched as Goro pushed the leaves of his salad around, turning the tomato slices with his fork. “Do you still even _have_ any hints? I feel like I know this man as well as you know _him_ now, with everything you’ve told me.”

“He always finds ways to surprise me,” Akira chuckled, and though he hadn’t intended it to, maybe that was considered a hint in and of itself. “Can we talk about something else, though? How was your day?”

Goro shrugged, head tilting from side to side as if dismissive.

“Pretty good, actually. I know parties and clubs can get _wild_, but music festivals are another thing entirely. Did you dye your hair _just_ for the show?”

_Red highlights_, he remembered. Akira only took a coloured lock of hair from his bangs, making to twirl them around his gloveless (he’d abandoned them onto his lap) fingers.

“Nah, this is just hairspray.”

“There’s a hairspray that colours your hair?” Goro blurted, no doubt dubious about the claim. The DJ could only respond with a simple nod and a laugh.

“It’s only temporary and it’ll wash off _super_ easily. I could show you sometime, if you want.” Akira leaned forward in his seat, eyes half-lidded though dead set on Goro. “Wanna be a redhead?”

He grinned, wide and Cheshire-like. Goro chuckled in response, shook his head in that dismissive way.

“Maybe if I get as crazy as you.” 

* * *

Rainbow Bridge had already lit up with its colourful shades of the rainbow even earlier that evening, but Akira had really only noticed it when he and Goro sat down on one of the large rocks by the bay. Just a few metres behind them stood the replica of America’s great Statue of Liberty, which was really a quick walk away from their hotel. Hell, if Akira turned his head to the left, he could already see the building just a short distance away.

But right now, all he could really focus on was that bridge across the water. Maybe it was because he _actually_ found it interesting, or maybe he was just trying not to stare at Goro because—with their shoulders pressing together—it would be _too_ obvious.

A breeze blew past, and Akira could only blow out a warm breath onto his hands before he rubbed them together, gloves stuffed into his pocket. The air was getting cold as autumn fast approached.

He only let it happen when Goro took one of his hands and used it to guide his arm around the brunette’s shoulders, afterwards leaning into Akira. In just one swift motion, they were cuddling again.  
Akira would only smile, cheek pressing against brown hair as he watched the waters move. Faintly, he smelled that vanilla-peppermint scent that clung to Goro, though it was mostly-faded already after the long day they had.

Maybe, aside from the chilly air, it was why they were cuddling like this outside: Maybe it was because they just _needed_ it after the events of today, just needed the quiet and each other’s warmth.

There were so many _maybe’s_, but Akira decided to enjoy the silence and the faraway cityscapes— Enjoyed Goro’s body heat and his trust in Akira, the silent bond that wrapped them around each other.

“You were really amazing today..” Goro would murmur, just after a few minutes of them settling into one another.

Akira chuckled.

“You already told me that.”

“Because it’s _true_.”

The reply was adamant and shot back quickly, almost immediately even. Akira could only snicker, his hold on Goro tightening.

“I thought you loved it when your skills as a DJ are praised?” Goro continued, “So just take the compliment already, asshole.”

He was looking at Akira now, and Akira didn’t stop himself from laughing. A Goro Akechi that swore was a rare thing, and if he was cussing, it meant the situation had gone _dire_.

“Alright already, compliment taken.” Another brief laughing fit, really only from thinking back to how _unamused_ Goro sounded as he cursed. “You have this _way_ with _words_, y’know that?”

“Like I’m going to take that seriously from a man who has a silver tongue that claims he’s bad with words. You’re really just trying to deceive me in the long run, aren’t you?”

That.. caught him off-guard. It was an obvious joke but Akira’s brain was hardwired to react to things that posed as potential threats.  
In the split-second he heard those words, his head went through conclusion after conclusion, each raising an internal conflict within him that was worse than the last: Namely, (1) Goro knew about Akira knowing about his crush on him, (2) Goro knew about the recording, or (3) Goro knew that he’s a criminal that’s been avoiding the topic of his feelings the entire time and doesn’t want to get into a relationship because of it.

But then Goro continued, and Akira hoped that he hid the flash of panic in his eyes quick enough.

_Calm down. He doesn’t **know**._

“You dirty criminal, trying to sweet-talk people into doing your bidding,” Goro laughed, and it was so _freely _and without any worry that it _had_ to be false, right?

Goro didn’t know. How could Goro even find out? Akira was probably just being paranoid about it, so he’d only try and roll his eyes, smile on his cheeks.

If he tried to laugh, it would sound so, incredibly _fake_.

“You caught me,” he (half) admitted, “I’m just a dirty criminal that wants all your attention, happy?”

Okay, maybe that was more honest and on-the-nose than it could’ve been.

“You at least made that clear the moment you admitted to being jealous of your _cat_ because of me.”

“Mona gets more cuddles than me and it’s unfair.”

Another laugh, before Goro settled into a sigh. It sounded more wistful than anything, and Akira would only find himself staring into those red eyes as they stared back at him.

It was then that he released how _close _their faces were, how easy it would be to lock lips in that moment. All it would take was a small push or a wrong move before _something_ would happen, but Akira wasn’t sure if he wanted to explore those options. He couldn’t rip his gaze away, or even just turn his head or move it back by an _inch_ to let them have their personal space.

And then his eyes flickered down to glance at those lips.

_Fuck, I wanna kiss you. _

The moment was quiet, the waves seemingly tranquil for only those few seconds they’d looked into each other’s eyes. Akira found his hand moving towards Goro’s temple, brushing off a stray lock of hair that fell in front of his face. Goro only leaned into his hand, and for just a fraction of a second, Akira thought that it would happen.

But then Goro’s eyes fell over to the waters of the bay, head moving away from his hand and being the one to give them their space once more. Akira had to convince himself that Goro didn’t look crestfallen just now, nor did _he_.

“We should get back to the hotel. It’s getting too cold.”

The brunette was the first to get up though it was a bit awkwardly, maybe a hint _ruefully_. He held his hand out for Akira to take as he stood over him, gaze out to the bridge. It was easy to tell that he was disappointed— Maybe at himself, maybe at Akira. Maybe Goro didn’t even realise it himself, or maybe he felt the ache all too well. All Akira could do was take his hand, pulled up to his feet soon after.  
But when he stood beside Goro—hands still grasped in that light, barely-there grip—he found that he didn’t want to (_couldn’t_?) let go. Instead of withdrawing, Akira laced their fingers together, tentative and careful.

Goro’s head snapped to look at him then, a question in his eyes the moment Akira decided to stop staring at their hands and look to his face. At least, he didn’t look offended or anything.

“If you’re cold, I wanna keep you warm _somehow_,” he chuckled, the line flowing smoothly from his tongue. It was an excuse, and if Goro caught it as a blatant lie, he didn’t care.

Because Goro laughed, too, and Akira couldn’t stop himself from grinning in the way that made him resemble the Cheshire Cat as he listened to the sweet, melodic sound of Goro Akechi’s voice.

“Alright, but only up to the lobby, okay?” 

* * *

They didn’t let go when they’d gotten to the front of the hotel; They didn’t let go when they’d stepped into the lobby and made their way to the elevators; They didn’t let go, until the very moment that Akira absolutely _had_ to let go, because Goro was rooming at the fifteenth floor while Akira was thirteen levels up.

Akira didn’t just not _want_ to let go, he felt like he _had_ to not let go. It just didn’t feel _right_ not to hold Goro’s hand, with their fingers interlocked and slotting into place so naturally and so fittingly next to each other that one would think they were puzzle pieces that finally found one another again.

That was too accurate of a description. That was _way_ too accurate of a description to how Akira was feeling.

_How smitten did I already **get**?_

But he just hoped that maybe Goro felt the same way, about their handholding.

When the elevator stopped and dinged at Floor 15, Akira was quick to press the hold button. It just so happened that he felt Goro tug at their hands then, though Akira had already loosened his grip to (very begrudgingly) let him go.

“Don’t wanna let go either, huh?” Akira joked, though it was mostly an honest question.

Using his own, he brought Goro’s hand up to his lips. The kiss he left on the brunette’s knuckle was but a quick peck, and Akira hoped that maybe that would appease both of them for the night.

To him, it wasn’t enough.

There was an empty feeling within Akira (specifically, on his hand) when Goro had let go, simply taking those few steps to disembark from the elevator. He stood in front of Akira, though on the other side.

“See you tomorrow then?” Goro would ask, and it wasn’t a question that _needed_ to be asked. They both knew already the answer. It was the way Goro’s red eyes looked at his so _earnestly _that pushed Akira to answer, grin on his lips and teeth showing in a half-smirk.

“I promised I’d go around the festival with you guys, didn’t I?”

He wanted to pull Goro back onto the elevator with him, let him crash at his room for the night just to spend more time with the man.

He can’t.

But he _can._

But he also _shouldn’t_.

Akira groaned in his subconscious, a futile attempt at shutting up the debate he battled against himself.

“I suppose this is goodnight.”

A beat’s pause. Akira didn’t know what to say, exactly.

“Yeah—” he nodded, eyes on the carpet now, “Goodnight, Goro.”

But then he saw fingertips slip under his chin, up until his head was tilted back up and he got a clear view of Goro smiling at him with the _fondest_ look in his eyes.

Again, there was the feeling of being buried under a ton of bricks, all from a smile and a gaze. It was _Goro Akechi_ that did it to him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast. Goodnight, Akira.” 

Goro withdrew his hand, letting it fall back down onto his side. Akira couldn’t let the small pout on his lips be the last thing the brunette saw, so he only nodded and flashed him a smile— bright, _loving_ even.

_Tomorrow _would be the promise between them, for now. Akira could live another night with that.

He stopped pressing the hold button, and the elevator doors slid shut. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> livin the dream lmao
> 
> ultra japan !! the link i posted up at the beginning is for hype tbh  
like it got me s u p e r motivated to write this chapter + gave me stage references bless
> 
> tomorrow will have the last "arc beginning" chapter i whipped up  
will warn you now, pls ready your hearts and souls
> 
> edit: HOO BOY WE JUST HIT 100K WORDS C EL E B R A T E TO N I GH T C OME ON
> 
> listen list !!  
the music in the ultra japan after movie for 2018  
sex whales and phantom sage - one day  
lvther - dots  
whitewoods - beach walk  
rini - aphrodite  
jaymes young x phoebe ryan - we won't


	18. Track 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a weekend at a music festival ('b' side.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dub-con warning.

Things are hazy.  
There’s a specific heat pooling in his core. There’s a hand on his thigh. There are lips on his neck; His fingers are entangled in black locks. His eyes are squeezed shut. His breaths are heavy.

But Goro Akechi feels oh so _good_.

“_Goro.._”

He doesn’t want him to stop.

“_Goro.._”

Dreams can’t be this vivid. 

* * *

“Goro!”

His head snapped up, eyes widening at attention. Though it wasn’t even very early morning anymore, Goro was still lolling off into a doze as he sat at the side of the table.

Admittedly, it was hard to sleep the night before.  
When he’d gotten back to his room, he’d only find Ann and Shiho asleep on one of the twin beds of their room, and so would then only climb into his own bed himself— But rest seemed elusive, even as he settled deep into the comforters and the pillows with his body drained of energy.

It could’ve been many things that kept his mind running through to the earlier hours of morning—it could have been leftover adrenaline from the festival, the excitement still tingling in his bones—but he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit it was because of _Akira_.  
Be it all the late-night the talks they’ve had, or that moment by the waters, or how breathtakingly _stunning_ his talent and stage presence was during his show, Akira Kurusu was the reason Goro didn’t find sleep very easily.

Which brought him there, sat at the café tucked into one nook of the hotel lobby with Ann and Shiho sitting across from him. It was just past eleven in the morning and he was still falling back to the land of sleep as they waited for Akira to come down and join them.

Goro could only rub his eyes, leaning forwards with elbows on his thighs. Through his nostrils, he took in a deep breath.

“Sorry, I didn’t sleep very well last night,” he answered Shiho, who was the one to even shake him out of his stupor. He’d only place his chin on his hands, laced together as he hunched over the coffee sat untouched before him.

Ann gave him a _look_, with a brow quirked up and with mischief spelling in her bright irises.

“Akira keep you up all night, huh? You could’ve just slept in his room if you were coming back so late.”

There wasn’t even enough energy (or mental strength) within him to argue much, at this hour.

“For your information, we just had dinner together. I went straight back to our room after that.”

“Aw, don’t forget the part where we were having a romantic talk at Tokyo Bay.”

Goro felt hands settle onto his shoulders, massaging the muscles underneath his clothes. Leaning back into the plush of his seat, he’d angle his head up, eyes landing on the pair behind those fake glasses perched atop the bridge of Akira’s nose.

“Mornin’, sugar,” Akira greeted cheerfully, head facing down, grin wide on his cheeks, thumbs still kneading Goro’s shoulders.

_God_, did it feel good, though. He was rubbing _just_ the right spots with _just _the right amount of pressure and Goro was lost in Heaven. In fact, he could even feel sleep tug at him again already— but sadly Akira needed breakfast, and would only come to sit on the empty chair beside Goro once Goro gave him a tired hum of acknowledgement.

Under the table, Goro found himself tapping a finger onto his thigh, fidgety for a reason that was unbeknownst to him. 

“Seriously though, Goro’s not lying. We only had dinner and talked for a little while.”

“Okay but do you realise how _late_ my boy got back?”

As Ann talked, Goro would only pick up his coffee and _finally_ take a sip out of it, humming lowly to himself at how lukewarm his drink had gotten. Meanwhile, Akira raised a hand to call for a waiter.

As he’d brought it back down, Goro’s eyes wouldn’t stop watching his hand. The finger drumming onto his thigh tapped faster.

Gods forbid he wanted to hold Akira’s hand again.

“I’m pretty sure we got back before midnight.” Akira shrugged.

“_Newsflash_, Goro was back past 1 AM,” Shiho retorted, smile (as devious as the one on her girlfriend’s) playing on her lips.

Goro would only immediately look back down onto his cup on the table, doing his best not to meet Akira’s gaze.

So he was sitting outside his room door—recollecting his thoughts, feelings, and bearings—for around an hour then. Goro thought it took longer than that.

“You were barely awake, though,” he said, as _coolly _as he possibly could in his state, “You could’ve misread the time. And besides, phone screens are too bright to read in the dark.”

Shiho rolled her eyes, a wordless agreement passing between her and Ann when they’d looked at each other with knowing smiles. Would they even believe Goro if he pushed the envelope? Probably not. It was best to just let them think what they wanted to think.

A waiter had soon come and passed as Akira ordered himself an espresso (which arrived just five minutes later) and they’d all settled on a brief silence in favour of enjoying breakfast.

That is, until Ann spiked up with a new conversation topic.

“Way to _surprise us _on where you’re staying by the way,” she laughed, fork digging into the breakfast mocha cake she ordered.

“Did you _have_ to keep a secret or did you just not want to tell us?” Shiho prodded, smile playful now.

Akira would only chuckle as he shrugged, a half-eaten, buttered piece of toast in one hand.

“I wanted to bring you guys there first, for drinking later? Goro told me Ann snuck three bottles of hard alcohol in here.”

At that, Ann’s eyes lit up, nodding enthusiastically as she leaned forward to the table. She whispered lowly to them, as if she were passing on conspiracy secrets— Which Goro really didn’t get the point of, considering he hadn’t read anything about a ban on alcohol in the rooms when he was going over the conditions of the hotel.

“Two bottles of Smirnoff and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. The music festival experience isn’t complete if we don’t regret it tomorrow.”

“Ann, you don’t believe _any _experience is complete if we’re not vomiting and hungover the next day,” Goro quipped.

He could list off a number of events wherein Ann convinced him to drink (irresponsibly) with her, when drinking wasn’t even in the _initial_ _plan_. First and foremost, there was the yearly studio celebration, and then their birthdays, then Shiho’s graduation— And now, the newest addition, a music festival.

Oh, how commuting back home would be an absolute _joy, _he could see it now. 

Ann would only beam a smile at Goro, bright and toothy in that way he could never deny, “Love you, thanks in advance for drinking with me again, you’re the best.”

Gods damn Ann Takamaki for knowing he would never turn her down, for one reason or another.

Beside him, Akira laughed.

“And thank _you_ for letting me in on this. You, dear ladies, have single-handedly granted my wish of seeing Goro drunk.”

“Why do you even want to see me _drunk_, of all things?”

Akira grinned, phone held up beside his head with the screen black.

“Oh I don’t know, maybe because of that time you went to my club and acted like the sexiest piece of ass in the world? I still have the pictures in case you wanted a reminder of that.”

Goro’s eyes squinted, glare sharp as he stared at Akira.

“You wouldn’t _dare._”

Akira leaned into his forearm on the armrest, leaning towards Goro.

“_Try_ _me_.”

Seconds passed, and Goro wouldn’t allow himself to look at anywhere _but_ Akira’s eyes. That shit-eating grin the man wore only strengthened his resolve not to back down.

“Akira, I swear to God—”

“Can you stop giving each other _bedroom eyes _in public? Goddamn.”

Goro would only break eye contact when Shiho had spoken up, though the woman herself was in the process of stealing a bite of Ann’s cake when he looked to her. Still, he couldn’t miss how Ann was snickering under her hand.

“We’re not even _doing _that,” Goro argued. Akira’s laugh bubbled into the air again.

“Sorry, I’ll try to be more subtle next time.”

“And _you_,” he turned to Akira again, “Can you stop posting pictures of me to the group chat? I know it’s your kink or fetish or whatever to see me in your clothes but if you’re going to have pictures of me, at least keep them to yourself— or _delete _them, you creep.”

“Goro,” Akira would begin, one hand reaching out and pinching the fabric of Goro’s sleeve between his fingers, “You’re wearing a shirt that’s been missing from my closet for _weeks_ now. If anyone here has a kink for clothes-swapping I think it might be _you_.”

But Goro wouldn’t flush (too obviously, nor too brightly.) Instead, he’d grab a fistful of the side-less black tank top underneath Akira’s jacket, smirk on his lips.

“In case you’ve forgotten, this is _mine_, asshole.”

Then Akira looked up at him, lips curling up in the way that meant _nothing_ but _trouble_.

“Touché.” 

* * *

Music festivals, as Goro learned, liked to go out with a bang.

After breakfast that morning, they would only go attend the last day of Ultra Japan together: Ann and Shiho were being a power couple in crop tops and short-shorts (matching colours, of course) whilst holding hands, Akira was pulling them along to DJs whose sets were playing that he recommended, and Goro was simply trying to keep all of them together amidst all of the chaos and through the crowds when they went from stage to stage.

It was only right after they’d exited the area of the Ultra Main Stage after having gone to the Resistance Stage (where Akira had played at the day prior) did Goro offer to go off and get them beers at one of the nearby food stands, because making their rounds through the entire park proved to be a dehydrating experience.

Sweat-slicked and steadying his breaths, Goro was only standing in line when he felt a hand slide around his shoulders. He would’ve thought it was Akira (would’ve greeted him with an eyeroll and a smile,) if not for the voice that rang into his ear— _too _close for comfort and sending chills to race up his spine at how vividly each memory flashed into his head in _one_ millisecond.

“Goro?”

He didn’t need to turn his head to know who it was, but his mind was a second too late before Goro found himself staring into amber eyes.

Long ago, he loved looking at them, loved distinguishing every honey-shaded fleck in his irises— Now, they only filled Goro Akechi with a dread he hasn’t felt in over four years, made the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight and fear creep around his throat, almost as if squeezing the air out of him.

Maybe it was just the faint memory of being choked that did that.

“Asahi,” Goro replied, voice as flat as he could get it. He can’t be trembling now, not in front of _him_.

Even if every fibre in his being told him to run or break down and cry, Goro _refused_ to let himself be weak anymore. He wasn’t _trapped_. He was his own person now, with his own choices and feelings and he’d be _damned to_ _Hell_ if he let himself submit to the fear again.

Ann has helped him through this. Goro was strong now.

The only hard part was keeping his heart steady and showing _that man_ that he wasn’t afraid anymore— But the sickening way Asahi’s lips turned up into that too-bright and too-friendly smile was making it hard.

“Haven’t seen you in a long time, huh?” Goro was _too_ aware of the fingers playing with the hair above his nape. “How have you been? Good?”

“Better than when I was with _you_, yes.”

His laugh made Goro’s skin crawl. By his sides, his hands were gripped into fists to keep the rest of himself from shaking.

_Don’t fucking back down, Goro Akechi._

“Don’t say that now, baby. I missed you _lots_.”

Goro would take a step back, keeping his eyes on the man. Though his arm wasn’t wrapped around Goro anymore, Asahi still grinned.

“Hey, remember when I bought you that necklace? Do you still have it?”

He shook his head. With lips pursed into a tight line, Goro only glared at him.

“Such a shame, baby boy. You know I loved giving you gifts.”

Asahi took a step closer to Goro. Goro stood his ground, though he was already chewing at the inside of his cheek.

“You know _why_, right? It’s because I really, _really_ love you.”

There was a split-second when Goro flinched, right after Asahi set his hand on Goro’s cheek. Those yellow eyes were already undressing Goro when he stared down at him, it was obvious.

“I missed you, and I still love you, you know that?” Asahi chuckled. “Must be _fate_ that brought us together again. You used to _love _saying it was _fate _that led you to me. Don’t you want to enjoy that again, having an _us_? Dancing with _me_? I’ve changed.”

_As if a sickening bastard like **you** would ever change. _

“You shouldn’t have believed Ann in the first place, you know? I mean, what does she know about _our_ relationship? That’s our business, right?”

_Don’t bring Ann back into this, asshole._

“Is that bitch here by the way? I should tell her we’re—”

There wasn’t a second thought put into it—nor was there any hesitance—when Goro’s hardened fist came up and collided with the side of Asahi’s face. At that point, his blood boiled and his eyes turned murderous.

He could handle the nicknames. He could take the touching. But calling Ann a _bitch _was what set Goro off.

With the punch Goro delivered, Asahi had been knocked down onto the grass— though it was no doubt from the attack being unexpected than anything else. Still, Goro took the few steps forward to stand over Asahi and glare down at him.

If looks could kill, Asahi would be a maimed man.

“You disgust me, Asahi,” Goro spat, voice laced with venom, “You’re a good for nothing shit stain that isn’t worth my attention. Trash like you shouldn’t even be around any living being, you toxic fucking _asshole_.”

Goro would’ve made to stomp his foot onto Asahi’s shoulder, if not for the arm that wrapped around _his_.

It only took one glance to his side to see Akira standing beside him, only holding Goro in place— Just like that, Goro noticed the crowd around them, _watching _them.

“Walk away, Goro,” Akira mumbled, lips ghosting over his ear just _briefly_.

He wasn’t an idiot. Any more than what he’d already done would get them kicked out of the festival, so Goro only took in a deep breath, nodded once, before he cast one final look at Asahi, who’d stood up.

“You deserve to rot and die alone, Asahi. No one should be condemned to spending a life with you.”

Akira pulled him away. 

* * *

Among the crowd, apparently, stood Ann and Shiho. They took over holding him once they’d gotten a safe enough distance away, would only find a bench somewhere far from the stages and the main areas of Ultra Japan.

The two women sat on each side of Goro as he took in deep breaths, letting his heartrate drop and his anger fade, though it was a slow process. Ann and Shiho rubbing circles on his back and cooing at him with the softest of voices helped, though.

But when the rage disappeared, the tears came fast.   
At first, Goro didn’t even realise he was crying—he was _just_ fuming with anger, so much _hatred_ built up inside him—and now he was sobbing into his hands, hiccupping here and there, all while they were in _public_, of all places. 

“I’m sorry,” he tried, smile forcing up his cheeks though it didn’t last very long, “I’m _puh_— probably embarrassing you three.”

“Gummy bear, _no_, never,” Ann cooed, “We love you.”

“You matter more to us than what some people think,” Shiho added.

When Shiho hugged him, Ann would follow suit. Like that, Goro let himself cry, quiet as he could.

He wasn’t sure why, but he _needed_ the emotional release.

Never in Goro’s wildest dreams would he think that he’d see a person from the past there, when he was trying to spend the day enjoying a music festival with his friends. Seeing Asahi, after a solid four years of recovering and getting over the aftermath of their _“relationship,” _was too much of a shock for him, he guessed.  
It was all the bottled-up contempt he held for the man, the hate he built up that made him silently detest Asahi for what he’d done to him— But then again, it was also the memories of happy times: the kisses, the hugs, the little dates and the genuine happiness Goro Akechi felt being with him even despite the abuse and the isolation.

In a twisted way, the Goro from four years ago loved having Asahi be his entire world, because Asahi made it seem like Goro was _his_ entire world in the most convincing way possible to a naïve, affection-deprived and desperate teenager.

It was just _them_, together and _only_ together.

It was fucked up.

And then the question he dreaded came.

“Who was he?” Akira asked, tone even and calm though with a dangerous _edge_ underlying in his voice. He had his back to them as he leaned against the armrest of the bench, his arms crossed over his chest (like he was sulking) and though Goro couldn’t see his face, it was apparent enough that Akira was unhappy.

Goro rubbed his eyes, voice coming out just loud _enough_ for Akira to hear him.

“Messy relationships.”

He could see Akira pause for a split-second, head facing down to the ground.

“Oh.”

Moments passed by them in silence (or at least, as silent as being at a music festival could get) and Goro would only lean back and look up at the stars, the ones he could see. Distantly, the music from the Ultra Main Stage reached his ears, and he’d sigh.

“I’m sorry I ruined this for us, guys.”

“_What_?” Shiho blurted, “You didn’t ruin anything for us, Goro.”

He’d lift his head, looking to her with a “_but_” already forming on his lips— when Ann spoke up.

“And besides, it’s not your fault that that _douchebag _walked up to you, y’know. We didn’t even know he was _here_.”

“You handled him pretty good, too,” Akira said, head turned now to look over his shoulder at them. There was a small smile on his lips. “I mean, why don’t you ever punch _me_ like that?”

“You want Goro to hurt you?” Shiho asked, a smile (though incredulous) pulling up at her lips, too. Akira only shrugged, casual.

“What can I say, I’m a masochist.”

“Don’t tell _us_ your kinks, tell _him_,” Ann chided, pointing a manicured finger at Goro.

Goro would only blink once, staring at the nail that was settled _right_ between his eyes, before his gaze went up her arm, and then he found himself looking at Akira.

When their eyes locked, slowly, Akira said, “I’m a masochist. Please hurt me, _Gowo_.”

And then, Goro laughed. He laughed harder than he’s ever laughed that day, even to the point that tears built up in his eyes again though he was pretty sure he was dehydrated already.

Still, he slid his arms around both Ann’s and Shiho’s shoulders, pulling them into a hug.

“I love you guys so much.”

“Hey, hey— We love you too, but aren’t there going to be fireworks during the last show?” Ann laughed, and afterwards she stood up and pulled Goro to his feet by the arm— which, by causation, made him pull _Shiho _up, too.

“Oh shit, Akira what time is it?”

Akira looked down on his wristwatch, eyes widening comically before he began dashing down the path they’d come from after yelling, “It’s eight-thirty! We can still catch up!”

And then, he stopped in his tracks just halfway through the route, shouting back to them.

“_Well_?! Let’s _go_!”

Goro felt a smile tug up the corners of his lips, all before he ran down the route towards Akira after being pulled along by Ann, again. 

* * *

“What chips do you guys want?”

“Anything, I don’t care!”

As luck would have it, Grand Nikko had a convenience store at one side of the building— It was good for the four of them, because what drinking session was complete without chips?

Goro stood at the fridges, gathering bottles of water for them as Ann looked for chips and snacks and Shiho was.. Actually, he wasn’t quite sure what Shiho was doing or what aisle she was even in.

Now that he’s thought of it, where the Hell was Akira, too?

“Goro.”

He nearly dropped the bottles he was holding.

“Jesus Chr— Can you stop _doing _that?”

Akira would only laugh at him, though going around now from wherever the _Hell _kind of universal tear in the fabric of space and time he stepped out of to suddenly appear behind Goro.

“_Alright_, alright, sorry. Anyway, I need your opinion.”

Goro shot him a _look_, right before he walked past to go to the cashier. The last time Akira asked him for his opinion, he didn't even take Goro's advice in the end. 

“Hey—! Come on, it’ll be really quick, I promise!” Akira was snickering, and that was when Goro noticed how the man had his hands folded behind his back.

Akira was.. snickering _really _hard. It kind of concerned Goro a bit.

But still, with six, cold water bottles cradled in his arms, Goro would stop and turn beside the aisle of chocolates and sweets to simply look at the (maniacally?) giggling Akira Kurusu, who was hiding _something _behind his back, for whatever reason.

“Okay, okay: Blueberry or Banana?”

Goro raised a brow. Akira _knew_ his favourite already (_and_ has asked that question, months ago, on a _sticky note._)

“Blueberry. Why?”

And then, Akira brought his right arm in front of him with a grin blown _wide _across his cheeks, and when Goro saw the small box in his hand, there was _no_ keeping himself from turning bright red in _seconds_.

“Akira, why do you—!”

“Gotta play it _safe_, right?”

A wink, and Goro turned away and rushed out of the aisle, leaving Akira doubled over against the wall as he laughed. 

* * *

“Okay, next up! _Akira_! Vodka, or Whiskey?”

Ann was holding the bottle of whiskey, while Shiho had a bottle of vodka. He’d stick his shot glass out to Ann’s way, would watch, buzzed, as the alcohol filled it to the brim.

They all sat around Akira’s hotel room— Ann and Shiho on his bed, while Goro sat on the desk chair. Akira himself was on the plush seat beside the window, and the alcohol and chips, they placed on a low table which now stood in between all of them.  
It was a bit of a cramped space in his room with the bed taking up the majority of floor, but with a little furniture rearranging, they’d somehow made it work so that they would be sitting in a relative circle around each other.

Akira tipped his head back, the rim of the glass to his lips. At this point in their drinking session, the burn of whiskey had long been numbed to his throat, but the punch still lit flames on his tongue.

“Truth or dare?” Shiho slurred, grin wide on her cheeks, stars dancing in her eyes from the alcohol. Akira would only lean back into his seat after slamming his shot glass back onto the table, his lips tugged up into a smile.

“Ask away.”

Ann laughed, delighted and tipsy, as she gripped the neck of the bottle with one hand.

“You know the rules, we have to step it up from the last question!” she cheered, voice sing-songy, “When was the last time you got a blowjob?”

Reflexively, he’d glanced at Goro then— who was facing the ceiling and groaning. He wasn’t drunk _yet _as far as Akira could tell, but he was definitely flushed red— From the alcohol or from the question, he didn’t really know.

“It was.. last month, I think? Girl with brown hair offered, took it in the men’s room at The Metaverse,” Akira laughed.

_Oh_, how he hoped they wouldn’t see it was an obvious lie. Akira only jacked off in one of the stalls during his break because of the _one_ suggestive picture Goro sent him flashing into his mind mid-set. 

“One-time thing?” Shiho prodded, leaning forward just _slightly_.

“One-time thing.” He nodded.

“_Huh_. Anyway, Goro! Vodka, or Whiskey?”

“Just— Just gimme the vodka and gimme the dare already,” Goro grumbled, glass sticking out to Shiho’s way. Akira found it cute how he’d slur the words together.

But when Goro’s glass was filled, Ann and Shiho would only look at each other with those knowing stares and mischievous grins— And Akira’s been with them enough to know that it meant they were plotting something.  
Ann’s eyes pierced _his_, and Shiho was quick to grab Goro’s phone from one of the nightstands, giggling as if she were sugar-high while she navigated the device.

“_Goro_,” she started sweetly, teeth showing through her smile. Akira would watch, curious, as she tapped on the screen, “I dare you to give Akira a lap dance.”

No one spoke for a moment or two, nor even moved from their spots as a song lilted into the air. It was slow, sensual in both the beat and the melody, and Akira was stuck looking between the two women with surprised eyes that spelled of a _million_ questions and one— right before his gaze fell on Goro.

Goro’s expression was _unreadable_, at best: Closed eyes, furrowed brows, lips pursed into a thin line and with his forehead leaning onto one hand.

He almost looked _asleep_, if not for the way Goro started humming lowly. 

“Hey, you don’t _have_ to if you don’t—”

But then Goro stood— And then he tipped the vodka over his lips and set the glass down, only then to saunter over to him.   
Akira realised maybe too late that Goro had set his hands on the armrests of his chair, bent forwards on himself, and leaned _close _into Akira’s face, their noses just inches apart. Within the intense red of Goro’s irises, Akira saw the man who danced on his club’s dance floor, who’d peered up at him, whose look embodied lust and desire and _sin_ all in one pretty package with brown hair and a smart, snarky attitude to boot.

“Replay the song, Shiho,” Goro said— or more, _demanded_. The rough edge that his voice caught on made a heat pool in Akira’s core, as if their positions hadn’t done that _already_.

All at once, there were a few steps that separated them once more, right as [the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SDugIEoFU9M) begun again. He felt as if his eyes were glued onto Goro’s figure, unable to rip his gaze away from the hands going slowly (_oh _so excruciatingly slowly) down his sides, those hips rolling, the tease in lifting his shirt for just _briefly_ to reveal a toned stomach and strong muscle.

How was Akira going to survive an _entire_ song’s length of Goro Akechi being the sexiest fucking piece of ass in the world right in front of him?

Akira pursed his lips.

Throughout the first verse, Akira would only watch, a thumb pressing to his lower lip, as Goro felt himself up and down, standing above him— His hands would go along his torso, would slide up his neck and comb through his hair, would even slip along his thighs, _teasing_, then withdrawing.

It was like Goro told him to do as the lyrics said,

_Touch me with no hands, hold me with your eyes_

And Akira would comply, eager, would be rewarded when Goro finally neared him and lifted a foot to step onto the armrest on Akira’s right, hips so inappropriately close to Akira’s face that it was _tantalising_— with his hands skirting along Akira’s jaw to his chin like the night before as the chorus took the song deeper with its heavy bass.

As the chorus played, Goro would simply roll his body, slow and deliberate, and Akira couldn’t bring himself to reach out with his hands and touch when he was so _close_ and so _tangible_. It was as if he were paralysed on the spot, fated to simply let his eyes do all the roaming and let his mind wander to crevices explored only at late night.

The second verse saw Goro on his knees between Akira’s own, ghosting his hands all along Akira’s torso, down his biceps and arms, then when it came to his hands, Goro had simply taken one and dragged his tongue along the index finger, before dropping it completely.

Akira had to exert his will and effort to keep his cock soft. 

But then came the bridge.  
This time, Goro had come to hold the back of Akira’s head, his temple pressed to Akira’s cheek, as he rolled his hips (ass touching ever so _briefly _and _lightly_) onto Akira’s lap— and Akira was _gone_, a groan rolling off his tongue lowly, _quietly_, into Goro's ear. 

To end the dance, Goro would settle himself onto Akira's thighs, one hand entangled in the locks above the back of his neck, the other holding his cheek, their faces close (_so_ close, _too _close) with lips just _barely_ ghosting and grazing over the edges of each other.

And then, Goro would stand and go back to his seat as the song came to a close, —nonchalant and easy—which left way for Akira to re-learn _breathing_.

It took a few minutes before any of them could speak first (stunned from the performance, no doubt) and surprisingly enough, it was Goro that did.

“So.. Smash or Pass?”

The game was simple: Everyone would pretend, for just the game, that they were attracted to all genders, and each player would take a turn mentioning someone all the players know, then every person gets a say whether they would ‘smash’ or ‘pass.’  
There was no objective, aside from finding out who you wanted (or would) fuck or not. Additionally, there wasn’t a win/lose system— It was essentially a question game, where the sole question is “Would you sleep with this person or not?”

They were pretty much all drunk at that point, so there really wasn’t any objections.

Akira was first to drop a name, then, so he did the only logical thing he thought of in the spur of the moment.

“Smash or Pass, me?”

“You’re too much of a friend for me to smash, sorry,” Ann chuckled.

“Agreed, it’s a pass from me. You’re like.. Everyone’s big brother.”

All eyes looked to Goro, whose lips were curved up into an easy smirk.

“Hard smash. I’d fuck you,” he replied, casual and with a shrug.

Akira knew it wasn’t _just_ the alcohol talking, and the eye contact was hard to break the moment Goro’s red eyes landed onto Akira, even as Ann spoke up.

“Smash or Pass.. Ryuji!”

“Ryuji’s too much of a _bro_ for me to smash,” Shiho said. Ann would nod along.

“Yeah, Ryuji’s like, the _bro_ of the group that everyone likes anyway. It’s a hard pass.”

A pause, before Akira realised it was his turn. He opted to look at the wall, at a spot behind Ann and Shiho instead.

“Smash. Ryuji’s my best friend but he’s still hot, so if the circumstances are right I’d go for it.”

“Smash, just because,” Goro laughed, head thrown back, careless as he was intoxicated.

“Okay, Smash or Pass Yusuke?” Shiho asked, “I’d smash. Yusuke’s fucking _hot_.”

They all agreed on Smash for Yusuke, each of them apologising to Futaba in the air.

Then came Goro’s turn.

“Easy. Smash or Pass me?”

“Hard smash,” Akira blurted, eyes directly at Goro again. The brunette’s grin widened at Akira’s answer. “Hard _fucking_ smash.”

“Goro, I love you and all, but you’re like a brother to me,” Ann said, “I’d pass. Love you.”

“I’d honestly smash Goro, I gotta be _real_. That lap dance got me,” Shiho would add.

Akira nodded, wholeheartedly _agreeing_.

And again, a momentary silence. After a while, it was the sound of fabric rustling against sheets that broke the quiet air, as Ann made to slip off the bed—pulling Shiho along with her by the hand, too— and all Akira could seem to do was sit up, a brow raising.

“Where are you two going?” he’d ask. Ann only smiled at him, bright and earnest, though she’d begun swaying now that she was upright.

Shiho wrapped Ann’s arm around her shoulders, for support.

"Back to our room," she replied simply. 

Akira would only look at them dumbfounded. 

“Look, there’s some tension in here, and I don’t want my girlfriend’s virgin eyes to witness it,” Ann laughed, “Work it out, we’ll see you guys in the morning. Night!”

“Wait, _what_—”

But they were gone, already out the door— Which left him alone in his hotel room with a drunken, sex-confident Goro Akechi.

Inconspicously, Akira began pushing the low table back towards the wall with his foot, to get it out of the way. All the while, he and Goro stared at one another, the atmosphere between them thickening with long-repressed tension. 

He doesn’t know how or when it happened, or _who_ even went towards _who_, but Akira realised he was on his hands and knees on top of Goro on the double-sized bed, their eyes locked, their bodies stilled.

“_Goro.._” he groaned, the mere sight of Goro underneath him making knots pull in Akira's stomach. 

There was a moment that passed wherein they both only looked at each other, where the stir of Goro’s lust clouded his eyes in a haze of desire and Akira’s anticipation (which grew for well over _months_) made itself known, if not by the desperation in his eyes, then by the way he was struggling to keep his hands where they should be.

They were _drunk_, they _shouldn’t_.

Another part of him said that they should _because_ they were drunk.

Swept up in his internal conflict, Akira nearly lost his balance when he felt a hand slip up his thighs and press a palm against his crotch. Minutely, he realised Goro was palming him through his jeans, and Akira could do naught but groan low and sweetly, let his head fall down above Goro’s with his name just _barely _on his tongue.

_Fuck_, how many of his fantasies with Goro started like this? How was it that seeing Goro take those short, deep breaths below him—his eyes half-lidded, brows furrowed hard against each other, his lip bitten in an unveiled desperation—already made him _this_ hard?

“_Please_,” Goro panted, a finger hooked onto one of his belt hoops as he tugged, “_Fuck_ me, Akira.”

He shouldn’t.

Akira _shouldn’t_.

His head dipped to Goro’s neck.  
At first, his kisses were slow, intimate, _loving_, but when Goro dug his fingers into Akira’s hair and his other hand started feeling his chest up and down, Akira began to instead leave quick pecks in a trail: He’d kiss around one side of his throat, then kiss until he found himself on the other side, and when Akira’s lips happened upon the junction between his neck and shoulder, he bared his teeth and bit down.

The yelp that he’d dragged from the depths of Goro’s throat only served to make Akira leave another hickey farther up his neck, where it would be more visible. He wanted (so _badly_) to leave mark upon mark on Goro, hickeys and lovebites on his chest and thighs that wouldn’t fade for _days_ and let the world know that, fucking _yes_, he did that.

But Goro was whining by the time Akira left a fifth hickey around his neck alone, tugging at black hair to pull his head away from Goro’s skin, for the moment. Akira would’ve taken it as a sign for _no more bruises_, but Goro would surprise him once more, when he’d rolled them over and straddled Akira’s hips.

Wordlessly, Goro would slip his shirt off to discard it onto the floor, and with his hands splayed over Akira’s stomach (travelling up and up to his chest) he’d only lift himself slightly to let Goro strip him of his tank top, as well.  
Shirtless, breaths heavy and emphasised by their half-nakedness, Goro leaned down— And when his lips began nipping and sucking at Akira’s neck, he felt fire bloom within his chest.

There was a sweetly sharp pain that came with being bitten, but it was a sweetly sharp pain that Akira found to love when Goro began leaving lovebites on _his_ throat now— and when he’d counted up to five times he’d groaned and felt his cock twitch with newfound pleasure at each sensation of teeth clamping down on his skin, Goro sat back up and lovingly gazed at Akira’s neck, hands splayed over his own.

It was as if Goro was admiring the way they _matched_, and Akira himself couldn’t quite disagree.

But then (oh _Gods_, Goro knew what he was doing) Akira would curse, a string of little pleasured cusses rolling off his tongue right as Goro began moving his hips atop Akira’s crotch and grinding their clothed erections together. It was a subtle friction at first, but what was long, languid, and slow glides of the hips soon turned into short, quick, and _needy _ruts against each other that spelled of mutual desperation for more, more_, more_.

“Fuck— _Shit_, wait—_ Goro_, sit on the edge of the bed.”

It was a breathy plead, one that took looking up at the brunette with his eyes _begging_ to get Goro to stop (though hesitantly) grinding down on him.

Akira was quick to undo his belt and unzip his pants as he’d stepped onto the floor, and when he’d gotten in front of Goro, he was but a touch-starved man who’s stepped out of his jeans and who stroked himself slowly through the fabric of his briefs.  
For the most part, Goro watched him (equal parts interest and arousal in his eyes) as Akira got down onto his knees, settled between his thighs. His hands fumbled with the button and the zipper of Goro’s pants, but it was soon enough that he’d slipped both _those _and his underwear off, and Akira’s lips were on Goro’s hard cock like a starved man on sustenance.

It was sloppy, and Akira choked when he’d taken in too much more than once, but his eyes would look to nowhere but Goro as Goro looked to nowhere but _him_, and he’d simply bask in the sounds of wet slurping and his name moaned into the air. He’d bob his head, one hand stroking what he couldn’t fit into his mouth, and he’d _shudder _at the way Goro tugged at his hair, at the constant “_More’s_” and “_Akira, yes’s_” that spilled from Goro’s abused lips, mumbled and moaned and sometimes borderline _screamed _with his husky, rough voice.

And then, Goro pulled him off. Akira’s tongue could do naught but chase after the cock he’d so eagerly sucked and swallowed, nothing but a thin string of saliva coming to connect the seam of his lips and the head of Goro’s dick, as Akira looked up to the red eyes staring down at him so _obediently_ sitting on the floor with his hands clasped together. His own cock, up until that point, had gone unattended.

“Come here, take those off,” Goro ordered, face red, voice hoarse and catching on a rough edge that made Akira only follow and slip out of his briefs as he kneeled between Goro’s legs.

What followed next, was Goro lining up their cocks together (Akira only coming to grin smugly, seeing _his_ was noticeably girthier) and, with hands laced together, start to stroke them both at the same time.  
Akira couldn’t stop himself from curling into those hands, a hoarse moan coming from his abused throat the moment he was touched. His eyes were hooked onto the image of Goro’s hands pumping them both, his mind memorising the sounds of their moans and names on each other’s lips, the feeling of fire on his skin wherever Goro touched, or the carnal flames of _desire_ burning within Goro’s eyes themselves, whenever they’d so briefly hold each other’s gazes.

“Goro, _fuck_— Goro, Goro, _Goro_—”

His hands were starting to move faster, starting to stroke them both with more urgency and desperation, so Akira would only chant his name like a prayer as he watched Goro Akechi unfold, tensing up and moaning an uninhibited, rapid string of curses and Akira’s own name as hot streaks of cum shot up to his chest and the waves of orgasm flooded Goro’s body.

Some few drops of Goro’s cum even trickled down to Akira’s still-hard cock, and just the sight of Goro Akechi—hair tousled, lips pink, marks littering the soft skin of his neck with cum dripping down his chest and stomach—made Akira almost come himself.

And though post-orgasm, Goro decided he wasn’t finished, yet. He’d gotten on his knees in front of Akira on the floor now, Akira’s legs spread apart as Goro’s left hand began stroking his cock again. Amidst his moans, Akira could hear bits and pieces of Goro’s mumbling, something along the lines of _“Wanted this for so long”_ and _“Want your cock in me” _though he wouldn’t register it completely amidst the pleasure.

All he knew was that Goro Akechi looked like the most gorgeous fucking person on the planet on his knees, with his eyes focused though hazy, as he pumped Akira to his climax.

What made him come that night was how Goro’s eyes looked up at him as he pleaded (no, _begged_) to have Akira’s cum, when he repeated “_please” _after “_please”_ and would tentatively kiss and lick at the head of his cock— And with his hands pushing Goro’s hair back, gripping the chestnut brown locks away from his face, his cock spurted ropes of hot cum onto Goro’s face.  
He moaned Goro’s name, fucked into his hand as his orgasm hit its peak and descent, would keep his eyes on nowhere but the prettiest sight kneeling before him.

Goro’s tongue was quick to dart out and lick Akira’s cock clean, giving the head kitten licks by the slit and around the underside, meanwhile his cheeks and lips and chin were _covered _in Akira’s climax.

It took a bit before both of their breathing settled. In the midst of orgasm’s high, Akira would simply lean back onto the mattress on his hands, chest heaving as he re-gathered his subconscious (which grasped at looming regret) and let his cock soften. Goro stayed on the floor in front of him, and Akira wasn’t quite sure if he was looking up at him or not.

But he was the first to stand up. Akira offered his hand to Goro, and after pulling him up, he’d simply keep his hold on the man as he took them both to the bathroom with wobbly knees and steps that zigzagged.

He could at least be the one to clean up Goro, after all the work he’s done. Aside from that, it would be a good chance to let him vomit if he needed to— They _did_ just drink shot after shot of vodka and whiskey together, after all. 

Akira quite expected himself to get laid during the weekend (it was why he picked up a box of blueberry-flavoured condoms earlier); He just didn't expect it to be drunk sex with Goro.

“_Akira_,” Goro would whine, right as Akira was swiping a damp towel across his face. With a laugh, he could only ask, “Yes?”

“Why’d it take you so long to“—a hiccup—"to touch me like this?”

Akira wiped away the cum on his lips and chin, would only stare at them blankly before he’d moved down to clean up Goro’s chest.

“I can’t, without knowing you’ll be safe,” he mumbled.

Well, if they were going to regret tonight, he might as well go all the damn way.

“Safe from what?” Goro laughed, giggling even at the start.

“Safe from the people who may want to kill me, if they ever find out.”

Akira was making a stupid choice, drunken memories be wiped in the morning or no. It felt _wrong_ somehow not to come clean (one way or another) now that they've crossed this line— this very _consequential_ line.

Tell him or not, it made Akira's stomach churn with guilt either way.

There was a silence between them as Akira finished up cleaning. Hands held once more, they’d wander back to the bed, and Akira wouldn’t climb onto the mattress before Goro was settled in.

Under the comforters, Akira would hold Goro, and Goro would tuck his face into Akira’s neck. 

The room was quiet, none but the low mumbling between them to fill the silence.

“I like you a lot..”

“I know, Goro.”

“I know you like me, too.”

His gaze fell, down to the tufts of brown hair. Akira supposed he wasn't as subtle as he thought himself to be.

“I do..”

“But you don’t want to be with me.”

The disappointment was clear as day in Goro’s voice, even as he murmured, words starting to blur together and quiet.

“We can pretend, just for tonight,” Akira offered, the _tiniest_ sliver of hope tinting his voice as he pulled away just slightly, wanting to see Goro’s face.

Goro avoided looking at him. Akira cupped a hand on his cheek.

“I love you, Goro." 

Silence. Goro probably detests it, drunk or not.  
Defeated, Akira would only close his eyes, arms back to where they were embracing Goro.

But then he felt something on his lips— a peck that was hesitant and quick, akin to teenagers testing the waters of a first kiss. 

He peered open one eye, though would only catch a glimpse of Goro slotting himself back underneath Akira’s chin.

“.. I love you, Akira.”

Under the covers, Akira felt fingers press into his palm, and he’d only make to slot his digits into the spaces between Goro’s own whilst a small, bittersweet smile crept up his cheeks.

_Just for tonight. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi don't kill me pls  
HERE IT BE, THE CHAPTER I BEEN TELLING Y'ALL WAS S P I C Y
> 
> DOES IT HURT  
BC IT HURTS FOR M E HAHAHA
> 
> idk whenever i'll be able to post updates from now on because school starts for me tomorrow, but fret not !! i ain't abandoning these boys !!!  
i'll see y'all in the next chapter 
> 
> listen list !!  
alina baraz and galimatias - show me  
chase atlantic - friends  
chase atlantic - slow down  
adventure time ost - slow dance with you  
kalyna rakel - so removed


	19. Track 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> missed chances.

It was warm— But in the same breath, it was also _cold_. Goro felt the weight of comforters settled down on him all the way from beyond his feet to his neck, along with that of an arm slung over his hip.  
Even as he had shut eyes, he knew already that the curls tickling his cheeks and nose were Akira’s; that the warmth his face was pressed against was from the side of Akira’s throat; that he was in bed with the man once more, cuddling in the position that they seemed to awaken in the most— That is, with Goro tucked into the crook of Akira’s neck and with Akira holding Goro, one way or another.

It was almost romantic each and every single time— but Goro was always careful not to teeter over the edge of delusion once more; unlike his younger, more _foolish_ self from years past.

_God_, did his head throb, though. Did all four of them crash there for the night? Goro didn’t want to open his eyes yet _just _to check where Ann and Shiho were laying, lest the wave of nausea that settled deep into his stomach would erupt and it would _not_ be pretty.

What even happened, sometime after he’d lost awareness during truth or dare?

“_Akira.._”

The neck he rested next to vibrated only slightly when Akira hummed in response, sounding as groggy as Goro did.

How early was it? Was Akira even _awake_?

Again and with more insistence, Goro rasped, his throat sandpaper and his tongue a desert, “_Akira.._”

The arm on his hip slid up lazily as Akira pulled Goro closer by his waist— their bodies pressing together, heat spreading where skin met skin. Somehow, it was comforting; but all in the same breath, a foreboding sense of.. _something_.. stirred within Goro, and he was half-sure it wasn’t the inevitable taste of bile on his tongue later on.  
Akira was _warm_, though: Warmer than he usually was whenever they woke up embracing each other, warmer than all the other times they cuddled. Faintly, in the back of his hungover subconscious, Goro only wondered why.

Maybe it was the faint smell of alcohol on the man?

Once more—from the top, with _feeling_— Goro whined, “_Akira._”

And finally the man in question responded, albeit sounding more than a _bit_ annoyed and more than _very_ tired, “Go back to sleep.”

But Goro was light-headed, hungry, thirsty, and somehow feeling even sweatier and grimier than he did before they even started drinking— and that was saying a _lot_, considering that Goro opted to take a quick shower before he and the girls went up to the 28th floor the night before.

_Jesus, what **happened**?_

He didn’t want to know, but at the same time he felt as if he needed to find out just _what _the bravest piece of shit in the universe did _this_ time.

So, with slow and steady movements, Goro withdrew his head from the spot underneath Akira’s chin. When he was distanced enough that he could open his eyes without strands of hair poking his pupils, he did just _that_—

“_What_—”

— and even in the darkness of that hour before sunrise, Goro could see the lights of faraway buildings from the window bounce off of Akira’s naked shoulder, caught sight of the dark bruises on his skin, his chest hidden only by the blanket atop them both.

He felt that familiar creep of dread inch up his neck further up and further up, until it took the form of anxious fear clouding his mind. It was slow, and it was _excruciatingly_ anticipative, and he wanted (no, _needed_) to know the events of last night more than ever, now.

In an attempt to further investigate, Goro attempted to lift his hand underneath the covers to maybe push the comforters down or get himself sitting upright to try and think back to the events of the night (hours?) before. It didn’t take long, though, for him to find his fingers laced together (_so_ perfectly, **_too_** perfectly) with Akira’s own.

Tugging his hand free and up to his chest, Goro soon realised it wasn’t just _Akira_ potentially more-than shirtless. When he felt his fingers graze over the bare skin of his collarbone, Goro had to stop, his body freezing on impulse. His head hurt, his throat felt dry, and he wasn’t so sure the nausea was from the hangover anymore.

Goro inched away— inched so, _so_ far away with tired eyes alarmed and staring at none but the man sleeping across him, that he nearly slipped off the side of the bed. Looking over, he found a trail of clothes scattered around the floor: Some, even in the cold, dark night, he knew without a doubt were _his_.

_No.._

He took to the carpet and ran into the bathroom, migraine, nail digging into his temple, swaying steps and Akira awakening be _damned_.

_No, no, no, no, no, no, no—_

It couldn’t be: It just could _not_ be real. This had to be a dream (a _nightmare_) and it had to not be _reality_. Because Akira and Goro didn’t fuck, because they _can’t _have fucked. It just had to be a bad dream after the lewd fantasy his imagination had _surely _conjured up. It was probably his subconscious being horny while being intoxicated and it was probably all in his head. There _had_ to be some logical reason why he was naked to his bones, why he felt dirty and gross and _wrong_.

It was the alcohol— It was _all_ the alcohol. It was Goro being touch-deprived and needy with hard booze in his system. And even if they _did_ hook up, Akira _had_ to have been as drunk as he was, right? _Surely_, Akira was inebriated and unaware; It was dark, too, so maybe Akira mistook Goro for a date he set up earlier: Why _else_ would he have bought condoms at the convenience store if he didn’t already have someone to use them with?  
Akira probably thought that Goro was a someone he invited up to his room, and maybe the fact that Ann and Shiho were nowhere to be seen made Akira think that Goro was his _date_ when he wasn’t sober— and more likely than not, a drunken Goro just took the opportunity because by fucking _God_ he was pathetically desperate to get more-than-friendly affection from the man.

It _had_ to be that. Akira would never hook up with Goro.

All these thoughts swirled into his head as Goro knelt over the toilet, hair over his face and vomit retching from the depths of his stomach. Was it another panic attack? Was it just his hangover? The lines blurred, like his vision did when he tried opening his eyes only to squeeze them shut tighter when another wave of nausea washed over the core of his body.

Somewhere along the way, he felt fingertips brush against his cheekbones, the hair that fell over his face being held back though probably soaked at the tips by spit at that point— And then, there was a hand on his back, rubbing circles into his skin. By only the warmth of his palms and by the gentleness of which he eased Goro as he emptied his stomach into the toilet bowl alone, it was _too _obvious that _Akira_ was over him, that he was bent by the knees next to Goro with a worried look painted on his face and with his lips already forming the words that he _knew_ comforted Goro.

But after Goro let out a fit of coughs and wiped his lips with the back of his hand, he’d only tighten the death grip he had on the porcelain, shoulders tensing, head spinning.

He couldn’t look at Akira.

“I have some water, Goro. You need to drink up, you’re—”

“_Akira_.”

Funny, how his first four words upon awakening were simply that name leaving his lips— But Goro had said it with less warmth coating his voice, with less affection and more.. He didn’t want to say _regret_, but the vocabulary in his head in that moment dwindled down to just that _one_ word.

That one word described the feeling clouding his mind too perfectly.

When Akira said nothing more, when his hand stopped lightly massaging the muscles on Goro’s back and when the fingers in Goro’s hair left and let his locks fall back down, Goro would close the lid of the toilet bowl and lay his head upon the shiny surface, his forearm just above his eyes as he squeezed them shut.

It was less because of the pain evading his systems; More the feeling of wanting to run away from Akira— something he thought he’d never feel again, not after they’d been doing so _well_ the last few months.

“What happened last night?” he asked, throat scratchy, his voice coming out in tired rasps, but the desperation to just _know_ already had to have come across in the pained tone of his voice.

Maybe it was five minutes, maybe it was just a breath, but Akira was quiet for a moment after Goro left the question hanging in the air. Still, his hand remained on Goro’s skin, and Goro wanted him to _stay_ _away_, for once.

He needed to think as clearly as his brain would let him, and the drill that made his head pound wasn’t helping in the slightest. The handprint-shaped warmth on his back disappeared. One half of Goro wanted to chase after it, the other was silently thankful for the distance.

Maybe it was because he knew it would make keeping away from Akira easier, if they started at _that_ moment.

“We hooked up.”

_Fuck. _

A million and one things spread around his brain the _second_ Akira had finished answering him, but the most prominent and most urgent of his thoughts came in two words: _Get away_.

There was maybe an infinity’s worth of time that passed between them in Goro’s perspective, before he stood up on shaky, sleeping legs and reached out for the flush handle of the toilet. With wobbly steps, he’d make his way past Akira (who, from the corner of his eye, saw was slouched against the countertop, hair falling over those unreadable eyes of his) and go back to the main room.

Maybe Akira followed him back, or maybe he simply stayed in the bathroom and said nothing, but as Goro gathered his clothes off the floor and clumsily dressed himself in them (despite the protests of his body telling him to lay back down and rest more) he’d simply keep just as quiet when he began padding over to the front door.

Goro would only glance sideways when he passed the opened bathroom, would only let his eyes fall over Akira’s figure—arms around himself now, head still facing the cold tiles, maybe even _shaking_ but it could have been Goro’s swirling vision—before he reached out for the handle of the door.  
But he’d stop. And he’d only stand there, swaying from one side to the other as he tried to keep himself upright. He didn’t know why the _Hell_ he wasn’t just leaving already, why he wasn’t out the door and heading back to his room where Ann and Shiho probably were, where he felt _safe_.

Instead, he was stood there, a hand gripped around the doorknob, waiting for _something_.

What was it? What was he _waiting_ for? His brain was yelling at him to escape the situation (the _one_ situation he had no backup plan for, the one thing that he _couldn’t_ handle) and flee to the farthest corners of the Earth away from Akira— But _no_, Goro was simply stood there, face lowered, cheeks feeling wet.

His cheeks were wet?

Goro took his hand off the doorknob, would only bring it to his face and smile a bitter smile seeing the droplets on the tips of his fingers.

He was crying.

“Goro, come on, we can just— We can _talk_ about this, right? We can talk this through. You don’t have to push me away again because of this, _please_.”

Of course, he was crying when Akira gathered up the strength to chase him. That comforting, warm, _trying_, so painfully fucking _desperate_ voice of his just _had_ to reach his ears when Goro was fucking _crying_.

Crying about _what_, though: Crying about the hooking up part? The not remembering it part? The regret of drinking with Akira? The memories he may never remember of the _one_ night he _had_ the man? The part where he couldn’t just be a fucking _adult_ about this?  
Maybe it was the feelings? The crush he couldn’t get rid of? The headache he had, the distinct feeling of nausea in his stomach, the fact that he _knew_ Akira was right behind him and they were only an arm’s length away but even _that_ felt _too _far, somehow?

But most of all, it could have been the pain: It could have been how hook-ups always ended for Goro. It could have been how the change in their friendship happened just like _that_, and Goro was entirely unsure of where they were standing now, had no concrete feeling of security anymore, _again_.

It was just _hooking up_. Surely, they could move past this? They were _friends_ (close friends, even) this shouldn’t be _anything_— But really, it wasn’t so simple.

Because Goro Akechi just had to fucking fall in love with a man that could never be his, and his stupid, idiotic feelings just _had_ to cling to this.

His chest hurt, but to be more accurate, it might have been his _heart_.  
Goro would only grip the doorknob once more, pulling it open and taking a single step outside. Halfway through the door, he would only pause for just a beat, and with a shaky, borderline-sobbing voice, he’d say,

“Akira, I.. I need to think about this. Let’s not talk for a while, okay?”

Goro closed the door behind him.

Immediately after, he’d slump against it—eyes red, throat _hurting_ as he choked on his own tears—sobbing into his hands as he slid down onto the carpet and hugged his knees to his chest. His world spun, but his head was just clear _enough _to register the ache within his chest.

Maybe if Goro was more aware, he’d hear the faint _thud_ on the other side of the door not long after he sat below it, sobs not his own muffled through walls and wood. 

* * *

There was silence between them, only the faint sound of train engines and TV commercials heard in the midst of their commute back home. Goro was sitting on Ann’s right, while Akira was far from him on Shiho’s left as they sat through the train ride back to Yongen-Jaya.

Mostly, it was quiet because the two girls opted to sleep on each other (hangovers the same as Goro’s and such) but still, even with the faint mutters and whispers passed through the different crowds that eased in and out of the train, it was _too **quiet**_.

But Goro was no idiot, he knew why— he and Akira weren’t speaking to one another.

After maybe an hour or two of crying outside of Akira’s room door at three in the morning, Goro picked his pathetic self back up and stumbled towards the elevators. He headed to the fifteenth floor, wandered back into his room with Ann and Shiho, and then fell on top of his bed feeling even more _tired_, even more _dehydrated_, and even more in _pain_ as when he first awoke.

It was around eight more hours until he’d been awoken by Ann and Shiho, and they would be checking out of the hotel. When they saw Akira at the lobby with his bags (grey coat over his clothes, headphones on his ears and with his eyes to some faraway spot on the wall) he’d kept his promise, choosing not to greet Goro with his signature, daily _good morning’s_ or with his hugs or with the affectionate gestures; Instead, he’d smile at Ann, say good morning to Shiho, and then tell them that they should check out at the reception desk before promptly dragging his suitcase away.

Ann asked him about it. Goro only shook his head and told her it was nothing.

Clearly, it wasn’t _nothing_. They were almost back home and hadn’t uttered a single word to each other— Hell, Goro was sure that they only had eye contact _once_, and that was when he saw Akira waiting for them before their commute began.

Goro _wanted_ this—literally _asked_ for it—felt deep within himself that he _needed_ the distance for now— But there was still a part of him that lamented the space between them and the rather canyon-like gap that separated them, a part of him that yearned to lay down on the couch or on either of their beds together once more and just.. _talk_ about it.  
But this wasn’t like any of their fights before, wasn’t like the time Goro was dwelling on the nature of their friendship nor the time Akira kept being cryptic and distant only to brush things off and leave his questions unanswered.

And that made Goro think: Just how long had Akira been keeping him at arm’s length? Just how _much_ did Goro know of Akira? Maybe if they weren’t speaking over something like a drunken night of unintended sex, maybe they weren’t _that_ understanding of each other to begin with..

And that felt like a too-late stab to his heart.

Goro sighed, would only stare at his laced hands the rest of the ride with earbuds stuck in his ears and a rather melancholic song blaring into his head. When the overhead speakers announced the stop as Yongen-Jaya, he’d wake Ann—who in turn woke Shiho—before they’d all disembarked from the train and separated on the paths that took Akira to Leblanc, and them back to their apartment.

Not a single word, nor brush of skin, nor even a _look_ was exchanged between Goro Akechi and Akira Kurusu, and throughout the rest of the days and nights that followed, the tone of Akira’s voice when he’d pleaded to him would haunt Goro’s mind in an endless loop.

The regret made him want to carve his heart out of his chest and stomp on these dumb feelings. 

* * *

“Goro, do you want me to be honest with you?”

He simply stayed quiet, popping up and clicking the lid of his water bottle back down repeatedly as he stared at it. Beside him, Ann sat leaning against the glass of the studio’s mirror, her bag abandoned beside her, her arm around Goro’s slumped shoulders, both of them having just finished their classes for Saturday that week.

Funny, how slowly five days ticked by when Akira wasn’t constantly texting him or calling him, when they weren’t showing up at each other’s doorstep. It left a hollow void in his soul and in his schedule, really only served to make Goro hole up at home.

“Sure, Ann. What do you want me to know?” he’d ask, smiling brightly though the enthusiasm was lost in his voice. The series of _clicks_ and _pops_ from his water bottle’s lid echoed off the wide, empty space of the studio they were in.

“You’ve been really distracted— Like, a _lot_.”

_Click_

“Was I?”

_Pop_

“It’s kinda hard to ignore when you’re tripping over your own choreo more than once.”

_Click_

_Pop_

_Click_

“What happened with you and Akira?”

Goro looked to Ann, then, though he remained quiet. His thumbs ceased the constant pressing and pushing of his bottle’s lid, and it was maybe in that moment that he chose to drop the mask.

“We’re.. giving each other space, I guess..”

The past few days had been eating at him with nothing to do aside from go to work, then come home, and afterwards waste away on his bed with his phone in his hands or with simply staring at the ceiling until either dark or morning. For hours, his mind would replay the events of the early Monday that week, from the moment he awoke in bed being held, to the feel of Akira’s hand on his back, to the way his voice wavered when he’d tried to reach out to Goro who stood at the door, who wouldn’t (_couldn’t_) face him.  
He thought about how all of them played the drinking games they’d come up with, to the inebriated laughing, the fun, the jokes and banter and stupid teases, the truths he’d had to answer and the dares he had to do, and then..

Then, _what_? Goro couldn’t fill in the blanks, couldn’t see the entire picture. There were bits and pieces, small fragments of what happened afterward that his head retained, phantom touches that lingered and he could still feel on some parts of his skin; Eyes that looked so lovingly at him, _admired_ him, his name slipping off Akira’s tongue, Akira with a towel in his hand, Akira’s face painted so _sadly_, the word “_love_” uttered one too many times and much too affectionately and melancholically all in the same breath.

Trying to piece together the happenings of that night drove him half-mad, but it wasn’t the worst compared to trying to live day-to-day life again.  
Since asking Akira to leave him alone, Goro found himself glancing at his phone more than he should, found himself slipping it out of his pocket more than once after feeling it vibrate with a new message that wasn’t there, would lay in the quiet of his room with the device beside his head just _waiting_ for the ringtone he set for Akira’s contact to sound off— and it didn’t play even a single time, which made the voice in Goro’s head spit words of venom at him for even _hoping_.

_He_ was the one that told Akira they shouldn’t talk, so why the _fuck_ was he doing this to himself now?

But it didn’t stop at messages or texts— Everything, everywhere reminded him of Akira.  
The trains? Akira and he used to press together whenever there were too many people; Central Street? Akira and he explored all the shops and sights there already, _more_ than one time; Crepes? Akira tagged along to get one with him when Goro mentioned Ann’s obsession with the dessert; The dance studio? Akira was right _there_, doing his best in the corner the one time he attended Goro’s class; That cat on the street he and Ann just passed by on their way home? Akira would’ve taken pictures of it with his phone just to send it to Goro and gush over how cute it was for a solid half hour, at the least.

Goro’s own _apartment_ wasn’t even safe from it all, with the scent of coffee and fabric softener on the couch and his bed speaking for itself. Why couldn’t he just change his sheets already, when it already hurt just closing his eyes and smelling Akira on his pillows? When he could so vividly imagine the man just laying there with him, like always?

Akira Kurusu had single-handedly embedded himself into every aspect of Goro’s life, and though it was _Hell_ being apart from him at this point, Goro preferred not to be in his presence after what happened if only to avoid making more of a mess than he already has.

Another painful reminder came to Goro when he’d gotten out of the shower, wandering to the closet in his room. The five hickeys littering his neck hadn’t faded very much yet, but perhaps the thing that made a greater pang of regret and sadness wash over him came in the form of Akira’s many, _many_ shirts and pants hanging among Goro’s own clothes: the almost domestic way it looked to have them there.

_Goddammit, it was just **hooking** **up**! Can’t I just.._

He couldn’t, even if he forced himself to. Even if Goro and Akira agreed that it was just a casual thing—even if they both wrote it off as simply them being drunk and horny and it was simple _convenience _that they were alone together—Goro would never be able to really act like it, could never go back to how things were now that he’s most likely made it known already that he’s fucking _head over heels_ for a man named Akira Kurusu.

Another sigh heaved from his chest, maybe Goro’s fifteenth one today. It wasn’t intentional when he looked down on himself after getting dressed in whatever sleepwear he could pull out, only to see the _oh_ so familiar green sweatpants and the black sweater.  
He’d rub the heels of his palms at his eyes, exasperated at himself, before deciding to flick off the lights and climb into bed.

Part of his nightly routine since the end of the weekend had been to simply lay in bed for a few hours, eyes on his phone and scrolling through old chat logs— Chat logs that were, of course, ones with Akira in them.  
Goro was probably masochistic now, but then again, hadn’t he always wanted to be hurt? Thought that he deserved it, even if the therapeutic sessions he had with Ann taught him that he shouldn’t think that way?

His free hand ran over the hickeys on one side of his neck, the other scrolling up and down to read conversations past. It was a subconscious thing for him to do once he’d realised that his skin was painted with splotches of dark purples and blues, wondering still when they would fade.

There was a small voice in the back of his head that didn’t _want_ these marks to disappear, though.

_Stop it, idiot._

Goro must have already memorised the order of their conversations with the number of times he read through them. Akira’s last text to him was of greeting him good morning on the last day of Ultra Japan; Before that, was a goodnight; Farther up was Akira’s text on where his room was; And then, there were the pictures they sent each other and his complaining about waking up so early; Next, the time he texted Goro about being excited for the festival; Then pictures of the equipment he was going to bring; Mona’s curled-up, sleeping silhouette on Akira’s lap; Akira’s late-night texts about how coffee worked; Goro admitting he liked Akira’s black coat too much to give it back.

Conversations of so many things, talks about Goro wanting to get into a school of performing arts, the tale of how Akira got a scar down his left thigh, hints about their crushes, the simple little messages that greeted each other a good morning, a goodnight, asked how the other was or if he was free on this day, or if he wanted to do this with him— Things that made Goro realise just how much he wanted to keep Akira in his life, among other things.

The leap of fate was something that Goro didn’t very much have faith in, though: Because what if they talked about it and Goro really _did_ reveal that massive crush he had on Akira when he was drunk? What happens then? Akira was an open guy, but what would he think of Goro when he finds out the truth? Would he still want to keep being as affectionate as before, or would he rather not have Goro around him that way?

Would Akira even still want Goro as a friend? Maybe if it was just a _crush_, but here Goro had to go and fall in fucking love with him.

The voice in the back of his head chimed in.

_What if you just told him the truth?_

That was a stupid idea in and of itself.

_What if he hooked up with you because he likes you back?_

It was impossible.

_He deserves to know._

Goro pressed the power button of his phone, plunging himself into the darkness of his bedroom.

_He does.._

The device vibrated in his palm.  
Goro was too quick to check the notification he’d gotten, would only stop and stare for a few moments at the name that was on-screen, next to the Instagram logo. Tentatively, he tapped on the bubble that’d led to Joker’s newly-uploaded video, captioned only as _“1309xx”_.

It was hard to miss how that was the date on Monday.

The video was only a minute long, with a blacked screen and _“1309xx”_ in plain white text at the bottom. Pressing play, Goro would hear a soft, slow string of notes ring out of the speakers of his phone, would only pull the blanket up closer to his chin as he listened, screen down, eyes closed. In the darkness of his bedroom, the piano’s melancholic cadence sounded more pronounced, but maybe it was just Goro, surrounded by the smell of Akira on the clothes he wore and the sheets he laid on as he _missed_ the man.  
Akira’s composition began as a sadder theme, but it was soon that he played faster, more aggressively. It was as if Akira began pounding on the keys as the song continued, and Goro would only find himself furrowing his brows, a lingering feeling of uneasiness settled into his stomach.

And then, it cut off midway through a rapid run up the notes. He checked the screen once more, only finding that the video had ended. Already, likes and comments flooded the post, asking Joker about the song, what the title meant, and if it was a preview of something he’d be adding to his YouTube channel soon.

Goro only exited the app, purposeful as he went to the chat log he had with Akira. When the keyboard pulled up, his tired eyes looked at the characters on the screen, his thumbs hovering, his heart racing.

He typed a word. Deleted.

He typed a sentence. Deleted.

* * *

**You (NOT SENT)  
i don’t want to lose you. can we talk in leblanc tomorrow?**

* * *

The time was midnight, and it’d been seven days since he’s seen a message from **pancakes**. In his own inbox, a single text (typed, edited, deleted and repeat a number of times already) was left unsent.

* * *

**You (NOT SENT)  
I love you too much to drag you down with me. I have to tell you something, come to leblanc.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> h ey lmao it's me  
school's started and my schedule is hec k i n bullshit but hey i got three days off a week from class, so i can still write and stick to 1 update/week, at least
> 
> BUT HELLO  
YES  
THEY HERE AGAIN  
BAC K AT IT WITH THE SAD AND THE LACK OF COMMUNICATION :^D  
(also yes, akira is blueberry while goro is pancakes w h o o o that was what that one poll i made on twitter was about)
> 
> listen list !!  
the eden project - catch me if you can  
hamilton - burn  
the eden project - say something


	20. Track 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the aftermath.

“Please don’t make me do this.”

“Goro.”

“_Please_, don’t make me go there.”

“_Goro_.”

“**_Ann_**_._”

Goddammit, he should have known. Goro should have _known_ that Ann would pull something like this. Why didn’t he insist they order something from home and just eat on the couch again, instead of (and quote) “_going out to eat_”?

The infinite regret seeped into his bones as they walked down one of the paths of the red light district, and by the intent in Ann’s eyes along with the all _too_ familiar landmarks they passed, he was certain they were heading to a certain club, where a certain man, who he had _extremely_ complicated feelings for, was sat tucked away with music pouring out the windows and with the smell of alcohol and regret soaked into the air.

Maybe he needed that, but he certainly didn’t need it when he was anywhere _near_ Akira Kurusu —Which is why Goro was digging his heels into the asphalt of the street, trying to pry his arm free from Ann’s grip and failing _horribly_ because Ann was looking at him with the eyes that he could _never_ reject.

It was basically a hostage situation, and Goro was heavily torn between running away back to the station or letting himself be dragged back down to The Metaverse. Thus far, he was leaning more towards the former, when a too-familiar song flowed into his ears louder and louder with each step he took, when the soles of his feet started feeling the too-familiar _thumps_ and vibrations, and when his eyes caught on wild, red strobelights from a building he’s been in _far_ too many times.

They stopped at the entrance of the club, and peering in through the entrance, Goro could already faintly make out red gloves from the far wall, could already feel his heartrate skyrocket. Actually, was Goro having a heart attack?

“You need to talk to each other,” Ann chastised, tone exasperated as she _finally_ let go of the vice grip she had on Goro’s arm.

He could’ve made his escape. It would’ve been so _easy_.. but he couldn’t just abandon Ann here, not after everything she’s done for him. Running away would only signify his monumental douchebaggery as a friend.

“I’ve told you already, we’re just giving each other space for now—”

“Like _Hell_.” Ann shook her head. “Goro, it’s been more than two weeks since Ultra Japan happened. Are you _sure_ it’s still “_giving each other space_?””

_Yes_.  
His panic-induced brain would have said _yes_ right off the bat, no questions asked. One look at him told Goro that Ann knew that, though she didn’t comment on it as she began striding into the building.

Goro couldn’t do anything else but follow her, though highly reluctant and nerve-wracked he was.

“A lot happened and I just don’t think we should see each other yet, much less when he has _work_,” he tried, though his argument fell on deaf ears when Ann made a beeline straight to the bar. Goro chose to believe it was because of the blaring music surrounding them.

He settled into the stool beside her, and as Ann was ordering her usual vodka shots from Yusuke, his gaze focused on none but the woman eyeing him— almost like she was looking _past_ him, even.

“You need to talk.”

“It’ll make things worse.”

Ann took her tray of shots then after paying their bartender, and as she stood up and walked a few steps past him, Ann would only nod over to the seat _beside_ Goro, her stare hard and her lips into a thin line.

“You should go over that with _him_.”

Goro’s head turned, and if he already felt as if he were under cardiac arrest just from _being_ where he knew Akira was, then finding Akira hunched over on the stool beside him hit the nail in the coffin.  
The need to scramble away tugged on his nerves, and in a split-second, Goro even considered chasing after Ann to their usual table on the second floor— but when he found Akira’s dark eyes trained on none but _him_, Goro felt rooted to the spot. His heart pounded, but it was oh so different from why it usually did whenever he saw the man. As he watched Akira’s lips move, Goro didn’t even register the fact that he’d said something to him, in the midst of his budding panic attack.

“Wh.. _What_?” he heard himself mumble, and it was a miracle that he could even do so when they were near the heart of the noise.

And there was a pull in the knots of his stomach (like a long-needed desire finally sated) when he saw Akira’s lips tug up into a smile, though bitter as it was.

“I said, you started tying your hair up now, when you told me you’d be getting a haircut a month ago.”

_Oh_.

Goro suddenly felt the need to run his fingers down the low ponytail at the back of his head, the tips tickling the nape of his neck. Looking at Akira, it didn’t seem as if the man was any better at keeping kempt hair himself— In fact, he looked worse for wear.  
Though already untameable, Goro noted how Akira’s black locks looked even messier than usual, seeming as if he didn’t even bother to tousle it in the _“messy bad boy look”_ he always did; Under his eyes, he saw dark crescents had formed, and from experience, Goro could tell it was from exhaustion; Even with the filter of red strobelights, Akira looked pale, too. Maybe if he were to reach out and brush his fingertips over Akira’s cheek, Goro would feel a touch colder than Death itself.

But he didn’t do that. Instead, he stayed on his seat. His hands clasped together, his lips pursed, and he’d only give Akira the briefest of glances— Because it was hard to even just _look_ at him for more than a few seconds at a time.

“Plans change,” Goro would reply, though a minute must have already passed by then. Before him, Akira only nodded and spun the glass of whiskey in his hand.

Which was a bit off, because Akira never had more than a few beers when he still had another set or two to go before he could retire for the night. Goro supposed that he couldn’t exactly play dumb as to why he was drinking as heavily as he was.  
He just never expected what happened to have had this great of an effect on Akira, too. A man like _him_, being as hungover about hooking up as _Goro_ was? It was more than hard to believe with Akira’s flirtatious reputation.

For a bit, conversation had come to a halt. Time passed slowly as Goro watched the whiskey in Akira’s glass slowly disappear, heard the clinking of the ice and the background noise of chattering and music around them. He didn’t know what to say, exactly, considering that he’d been dragged here out of the blue and it wasn’t in his plan to even _talk_ to Akira anytime soon about what happened— Much less even get started on how to express what he felt or even _what_ to talk about first and foremost.

And Akira probably knew this already (probably referred to all the times that Goro had to think through his sentences first before even saying anything that was of importance) because when he’d set his glass down for the final time after finishing his drink, he spoke up.

“Look, about what happened..”

Goro felt himself tense up. He tried to brace himself as much as he could, though it didn’t do much for his nerves.

“When we were drunk, I remember you telling me about..”—he chanced a glance at Goro, who would only hyperfocus on his hands—“.. I think you know already. I just wanted to ask if it’s actually _true_, so..”

“I like you.”

And there it was.  
Goro hadn’t exactly meant to blurt it out, but what was the point in even hiding it anymore? Drunken Goro outed him already, so what more damage could fucking _finally_ admitting it do? Dragging it out would’ve just kept him there longer, and goddammit did Goro just want to never show himself to Akira ever again.

Within him, while there was a feeling of relief at confessing after _months_ of avoiding it, there seemed to be a constant pattern happening in Goro Akechi’s life—like one step forward, two steps back—so while the weight of confessing had been lifted off his shoulders, an even _heavier_ weight was there to replace it.

The weight of it potentially being the end of their friendship, if the hooking up and distancing from each other part hadn’t already done the deed.

Akira’s silence only made him grow wearier, the pit of anxiety within his core festering more and more: clawing at his mind, testing the delicate nature of his heart— so when Akira had opened his mouth, Goro couldn’t help but drink in every careful word with anticipation. 

* * *

“Give me a route here.”

_“Wait a sec. There are **way** more guards here than last time so I want to be thorough.”_

Akira pressed against the wall, the fabrics of his suit feeling both _too_ hot and not hot _enough_ as he stood outside the rooftop entrance of a building in the outskirts of Roppongi. Around him, the autumn air chilled his body to its bones, but the adrenaline that pumped through his veins made it feel instead like a light breeze, mind sharp and focused on none other but the task at hand.

Weeks ago, he and Morgana had infiltrated this same building in their search for evidence against the (frankly) _gigantic_ conspiracy that surrounded Prime Minister Masayoshi Shido. After all, with _him_, it was go big or go home, so Akira and his group wanted to be thorough and bring to light _everything_ that the politician had under his sleeve.  
In the months that their investigation had begun, they’d compiled data upon data that connected Shido to not 20%, not even 40%, but a whopping _85%_ of their previous targets. When they dug deeper, they found more: some charity programs that funded the research on cognitive psience, some politicians (big and small) as well as businesspeople that were directly collaborating with Shido, foster homes that were fronts for human experimentation, and even some religious groups that secretly worshipped the politician as a higher being.

It was the kind of internet conspiracy theory that was just too _much_ and too _crazy _to be true, and yet it _was_. Akira had a feeling, though, that they were nearing the end of the tunnel— That it took just a few more pushes and a little bit more shoving before they found everything, or hit the _jackpot_.

Which brought him there, stood in freezing cold in but a few layers of clothing as he waited for his navigator to give him a route to go along once he’d picked the lock and slipped inside. The last time he and Morgana were there, they’d run into a block that needed investigation on another building _entirely_ for them to be able to gain access to the contents of a safe in one of the more important-looking offices.  
Akira had a feeling this one would be another thing related to Futaba’s mother’s research, and so, felt within himself an obligation to see this one through to the end as soon as he could— Because maybe then, they would get more bits and pieces as to where Wakaba Isshiki had disappeared to all those years ago; If not to give them hope of finding the woman, then to at least find out what happened to her.

Futaba’s voice chimed in his earpiece once he’d blown air onto his gloved hands and rubbed.

_“Okay, Zorro’s gotten into the building from one of the lower levels, so you’ll meet up in that office pretty soon. Arsene, I have a route mapped out now, so just tell me when you’re inside and we’ll start navigation.”_

Akira produced his trusty lockpick from within his coat pocket, making quick work to push the pins of the door’s lock and slip within the building. Behind him, the heavy fire exit clicked quietly before he’d made quick, silent steps down the stairs.

“I’m in.” 

* * *

Akira crossed his arms over his chest as he sat beside Goro, making himself seem smaller and choosing not to make it any harder on either of them by avoiding those beautiful (_gorgeous_) red eyes. His left hand rubbed at his right arm lightly, _carefully_, as if it would ease the ache.

“I think you’re great,” he’d begin, voice careful as he could get it in the midst of the club’s noise, “I think you’re.. you’re _amazing_ and _incredible_ and I have to be one of the luckiest bastards in the world to be able to get to know you, but I just.. _can’t_.”

There was a feeling beneath his skin that wanted to look up at Goro then, but the fear of looking at his face and seeing the utter _heartbreak_ in his eyes kept Akira away. Instead, he’d stare down at his empty glass, flinching only _slightly_ when his palm pressed down too hard on his arm.

He hoped Goro didn’t notice it.

“I just have _too_ many things going on in my life right now, and I don’t want to get into a relationship before I settle everything I have to do first.”

Goro was staying silent. Akira was unsure what to say next, or if he should even say anything at all— But he had to get the message across, and though the price he had to pay weighed heavily in his mind, he told himself that it would be _fine_ just as long as Goro was safe.

“I appreciate that you feel these things for me— and I’m not trying to say this is a _rejection_, but..” 

* * *

“Z, where are you? I’m at the spot.”

There was static on his end of the line, and Akira had merely holed up in the office with his back to the wall as he waited for his companion. Already, he’d been standing there for maybe ten minutes, and if Morgana couldn’t get there in the next ten more, they would have to withdraw.

Withdrawing could mean that they let this chance slip past their fingers, because who _knew_ how tight security would be next time they tried to break in (if there would even _be_ a next time)?  
Fear crawled under his skin, an uncomfortable churning in his gut at the possibility that they might have let their presence known in the past few heists. If word got out that two bandits were sneaking around underneath Shido’s nose, they were as good as dead.

“_Z_? Shit.. Oracle, do you have his position?”

_“He’s stuck in one of the offices right now on the floor below you. It doesn’t look like he’s been spotted yet, but don’t you **dare** try to go down and save him, Arsene. You know it won’t end well if both of you are spotted together.”_

Futaba’s voice was stern in his ear, easily reading his train of thought even without having to look at him. He had to admit, his nerves were shaky as he waited there, fidgeting with his gloves, keeping his hands from running through his hair lest the colour would wipe away with the damp gloves he wore.

Suddenly, the doorknob beside him turned carefully. Akira had tensed up, ready to either make his escape out the window or knock someone out, but would soon relax seeing the familiar, black ensemble of his partner peer in through the doorway.

When the entrance clicked close, Morgana would turn the lock and face him, holding up a small USB in his hand. He was panting and out of breath when he’d walked past Akira to the lone computer on the desk, but didn’t seem to sustain any injury.

“I got the access codes. Let’s get in and get out while we still can.” 

* * *

“I want us to still be what we were, I really _do_.. But the choice is yours to decide. I’ll understand if you don’t want us to keep in contact anymore.”

Goro’s heart was already shattered, but Akira’s statement really did those final touches of stomping on the shards, letting it burn in a dumpster fire, before grinding it to pure _dust_. Needless to say, he regretted coming with Ann to The Metaverse.

It didn’t make sense for Akira to want to still be in contact. Why couldn’t he just push Goro away so it would be _easier_ on both of them?

The hard part wasn’t _not_ looking at Akira anymore, it was trying to rip his eyes away from the man, from the dark gaze that stared right back at him that Goro could just _never_ figure out. He could never exactly pinpoint what was on Akira’s mind— Was he feeling the same regret that Goro was feeling? Was this just as hard for him? Was Akira just _indifferent_ to it at this point? How many people had he rejected this same way?

_Don’t think of him like that. You **know** he’s a good guy.._

He couldn’t help it, either way.

Questions swirled inside his mind, branching out to more “_why’s_” and “_what’s_” and “_how’s_” that it almost felt like they were forming a migraine. Goro tried to swallow. Maybe he could get his voice as even as he could if he did.

“What we were?” Goro pursed his lips, shaking his head slowly. “What _were_ we then?”

The sharp edge of his voice—the almost-accusatory tone he’d spoken in—wasn’t _intended_, exactly, but Goro supposed it was a slip of the tongue guided by the dam of his emotions bursting open.  
Akira only stared back at him, and it was hard to miss how he looked at a loss for words. His lips were simply parted open. Behind his eyes, Goro could see the cogs turning in Akira’s head, but apart from that, his expression remained mostly unreadable.

Goro could have been wrong (with all of the things happening around them, all at once) but Akira looked almost _lost_.

“We’re..” Akira _sputtered_, “_We’re_..”

And then closed his mouth again. There was a strange sort of satisfaction this time being the one to render the other speechless, but it wasn’t exactly the most appropriate of times to feel so. Still, Goro would watch as Akira rubbed his arm more, _winced_ more. He could see beads of sweat start to trickle down Akira’s forehead, his skin start to lose more colour— not like it even had much to begin with when he saw Akira, anyway.

Either Akira was going into a panic attack (something that Goro knew the signs of quite _too_ well) or he was _just_ that nervous, that _stuck_ on the question posed to him. Goro had half a heart to want to ask him if he was okay, but chose to keep his lips shut as Akira’s gaze dropped to the floor. 

* * *

Akira was running. He didn’t know how many times he nearly slipped from taking so many sharp turns, but Futaba’s rapid fire of directions at least kept him off _too_ many of the mafia goons stationed around various points of the building— Additionally, he didn’t know where the _Hell_ Morgana ended up after he jumped out of the office window, but all that really mattered to him at that moment was that he needed to find an escape, and _soon_.

_BANG_

Another bullet flew past Akira’s head. From the other end of his earpiece, he heard Futaba stifle a split-second-long yelp before she’d scrambled back to guiding him through the escape route she found. The only thing that kept him upright and speeding through the halls and up the stairwells was the adrenaline that flooded his veins, along with his body on ‘_keep me alive_’ mode.

Though Akira mostly got back to the rooftop unscathed, he’d stop in his tracks once the fire exit door behind him slammed shut.

“_Oracle_,” he mumbled, low and quiet as he could as his eyes stared dead straight at the five, armed men standing between _him_ and the building he grappled down from not two hours before, “I need a new route. What’s behind me?”

_“**What**? What’s your status?”_

Akira took one step back at the sight of one of them raising a handgun at him, the others following suit soon after. He didn’t even register the rain that poured down on them until he inhaled deeply and raised both hands beside his head, barrels aimed at his head and naught but a grappling hook on his person.

He should have come to Iwai before this.

“Five of them. Armed. What’s _behind me_, Oracle?”

There wasn’t any time for him to wait for instructions. Akira made a mad dash out to the ventilation huts and water tanks behind him. As soon as he took his first step away, the sound of five shots going off sounded from where the men were, Akira making to duck down and sprint in zigzags to avoid being shot.

He ran in between the concrete walls of the huts, multiple pair of footsteps not too far behind (and around) him as he turned corner upon corner in an attempt to evade and escape. Whenever he saw the shadow of one of them close, he’d duck into the adjacent wall and crouch down. Akira tried to blend into the darkness as he silently, _carefully _skirted along out of their trap— Which was, to surround and ambush him all at once.

He was mostly off to the side when he heard Futaba’s voice in his ear once more.

_“There should be ladders to your left. When you get there, there should be another rooftop a few storeys down, too. Zorro’s already on the ground and he sent me a rendezvous point.”_

“Got it,” he muttered, eyes sharp on the looming shape of one of the men as he inched back farther, and farther.

_“Don’t die.”_

Akira would take a moment to glance to his left when he managed to reach the edge of the rooftop, smile pulling up his lips once he’d spotted the metal railing of the ladder— His ticket out of here.

He started creeping towards the escape route, footfalls near completely-silent even around the puddles of rain—

_BANG_

—when Akira heard the _click_ of a gun’s safety unlock and felt the bullet scrape past his arm.  
The pain had registered in his brain for only a _second_ before Akira ran towards the ladders and gripped the metal sides, sliding down as fast as gravity would allow when he heard the wolf-whistle of the man that’d shot him. He didn’t hesitate to jump when he looked up and saw the five of them huddled around the edge of the rooftop, landing on the gravelly surface of that of the next building over.

_BANG_  
_BANG_  
_BANG_  
_BANG_

Akira was already running to the cover of the building’s concrete walls and following the instructions Futaba roared in his ear. It was soon that he reached the Earth once more (the pain from his arm momentarily blocked by his adrenaline) and hid along the alleyways, all until he saw the drenched silhouette of Morgana.

“Did you get it?” Akira demanded, the first pricks of pain now stabbing into his nerves as his heart began to settle and his breaths became laboured. The cold of the rain, until then, had gone unnoticed— and when Akira noticed the chill, he noticed the lightheadedness that overtook him, too.

He looked to his sleeve: Ruined.  
He pulled it up and looked at the fabric of his dress shirt: Red-stained.  
He pushed the folds of his ruined sleeve open: More red. More blood. His skin was torn open.

Akira had to bite down on his bottom lip as the pain shot around his arm, seemingly all at once now that he’d registered that, _yes_, he had been grazed by a .45 calibre. He felt Morgana’s eyes go over the wound whilst he himself kept his own squeezed shut.

He had to keep quiet. He couldn’t scream at anything for now. He had to focus on keeping himself conscious enough to get to Yongen-Jaya.

Still, when he’d hissed most of the initial pain out, he would stare at Morgana with furrowed brows and a bleeding lip.

“_Morgana_. Did you _get_ it?” he rasped, punctuating each word in a fit of desperation. He couldn’t have been nearly shot for _nothing_, right?

Fortunately, Morgana brought him _some_ relief when he’d nodded, following it up with, “We have it. Wakaba Isshiki’s logs on the research are ours.” 

* * *

Akira would stare at himself through his bathroom mirror, dark eyes matching the bags under them. His left hand laid flat down on the countertop, his right only hanging limply by his side. The dressing on his wound, he’d replaced already, though red spots already seeped through the bandage that wrapped around it.

Takemi told him that it would only take less than two weeks before the skin wound healed, but maybe pushing his arm to continue DJ work and Leblanc duties prolonged that— Just _maybe_. There was still a week to go before he could form a good conclusion, though.

But he needed rest (was desperate for it actually) and though he already knew the comfort of his bed and the warmth of his comforters amidst the cold, October night, Akira had a feeling that sleep would not come easily that night— and he was right.

Laying on his bed, with the lights flickered off and with Mona slumbering by his side, Akira stared up at the ceiling. The events of earlier hadn’t left his mind—didn’t give him respite—for even a single _second_ since he watched Goro leave his club.

And it was precisely because he was an utter _idiot_.

“”_You’re not just a friend to me_?” How stupid can you get?” he muttered bitterly, mostly to himself.

The image of that sad smile, the vivid memory of those melancholy-soaked red eyes.. It haunted him: Akira did that. Akira was at fault for ultimately breaking Goro Akechi’s fragile heart, even unintentionally tugging at all the right places of his emotions until he gave Akira a _heavily_-reluctant “_sure_” in response to keeping in contact.  
More than anything at the moment, he was _certain_ that they wouldn’t be back to old times. Hell, Akira was betting on them not even seeing each other more than once a month at that point (and maybe even _that_ happening would come as pure chance and accident,) let alone even _text_ how they used to.

Goro had most likely only given him that “_sure_” as a front (a polite _courtesy_) blurted in the pressure of the air from earlier. He knew already that they wouldn’t _actually_ be keeping in contact, as much as they (or maybe just _Akira_) wanted to.

The entire thing with his criminal life was going as smooth as they could hope for, but as Akira Kurusu, he was fucking up— and _badly_, maybe even past the point of redemption now.  
He didn’t know what to do; which moves to make, what steps to take. He was lost between plans and between what he wanted. Trying to keep his two worlds harmonised and balanced seemed so _easy_ before but now that he’d gotten Goro in his life, it was _jarring_ how difficult it all became— so suddenly, so _sweetly_ as he recounted the good times they shared.

_Fuck._

Akira had just about turned and twisted so much that he was sure that he’d woken Mona up at multiple points, but his mind’s eye wouldn’t stop feeding him images of Goro asleep on his bed, of Goro dressed in his clothes, of Goro reading a book with coffee in front of him, of Goro looking so _sweet_ as he flushed and ran his hands over his bared, bruised neck.

He noticed earlier that they’d already faded from Goro’s skin, just as his own bruises were gone. They were the fleeting reminders of a night spent entangled together, of the time he was most honest with Goro— and the fact that they’d vanished and he was left with but memories he’d rather forget.. Akira could only curl up on himself at the ache in his chest.

Sleep was not coming to him.

To look at his phone now would mean that he’d most likely go straight to his inbox and read through their old conversations, look through the album he’d labelled ‘_goro_’ and most likely cry about it again, too. Akira needed a distraction, something that wouldn’t leave him hungover as all _Hell_ come the later hours of morning.

Carefully as he could with his injured arm, Akira made to stand and pad over to his seat at the work station corner of his room. He booted up his computer, unhooked his headphones from its place, and slipped it around his head. The soft cushions that pressed against his ears were a comforting thing to him, reminding Akira of the single joy in his life that no one could take away.

Maybe (just _maybe_) if he got these pent-up feelings out, he’d either feel light enough to sleep, or would pass out in the middle of production. Either way, he’d feel his head lull to slumber soon enough. 

* * *

**A n n (sent 10:13)  
gummy bear???**

**A n n (sent 10:13)  
where are you? are you okay?**

**A n n (sent 10:15)**  
**i’m sorry i made you go there. i fucked up. let me know**  
**where you are so i can apologise in person?**

**A n n (sent 10:18)  
are you safe? i’m really worried..**

**You (sent 02:55)**  
**Sorry. I’m coming home now. Please don’t feel bad**  
**about what you did, I understand that you meant well.**  
**I still love you. I’m sorry I make you worried about me.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first things first, i'm so sorry about the quality drop and the hella late update y'all :'^)) i did my best i really did but im hella tired
> 
> but anyway !! here it be !! track 19 !!  
don't worry, this ain't the end of the angst lmao we still got a few more until i'm finished wrenching all of our hearts, mine included <3  
again, i'm really sorry about the quality drop and the lateness. thanks to everyone that's sticking around for the ride !  
thanks for reading !!
> 
> listen list !  
rini - my favourite clothes  
jaymes young x phoebe ryan - we won't  
bts - fake love  
cat power - sea of love


	21. Track 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> recovering.

Everything hurt— and when he says everything, he means absolutely _every part of his body_.

The studio’s wooden floor had spared his spine no mercy, the hard surface making the throb in his head only worsen. His muscles felt sorer than usual not _just _because of the exertion he’d put into dancing, and as he laid there, eyes cracking open at the sunlight streaking in through clear glass windows, Goro Akechi could only wonder when he passed out the night before.

Night? More like pre-sunrise, probably. He wasn’t really sure, didn’t really care either.

With a groan, he’d push himself up into a sitting position, joints popping and cracking with every little movement he made. To his right, he would immediately catch sight of himself on the wide studio mirror: messy-haired, dishevelled, and looking like the trainwreck he felt like. Well, at least he had half the mind not to get shitfaced again, unlike the previous times— But _damn_ did the headache feel like he did.

Running a hand through the tangles of his brown locks, Goro only squeezed his eyes shut, face burying into the knees he brought up to his chest. For a moment, his mind flashed to years past as he sat there, tailbone bruised and aching along with the rest of his body.

How many years had it been since he last slept in the studio? Three now, if memory served him right. He stopped living here when he moved in with Ann.

But, with how he’d find himself staying late after classes and dancing until he worked his body to the point of passing out these past few weeks, it certainly did feel like he was eighteen and practically homeless again. Goro could never forget the kindness of the studio owners when they’d allowed him to lodge there, just because he’d been their student for three years at the time— and now, as fate would have it, he was a choreographer at the very place he lived and thrived in.

_Fate_, he thought, _I haven’t thought of fate in a while now._

Goro got to his feet. More _cracks_ and _pops_ emanated from his bones when he’d stretched his arms up, feeling his muscles warm and blood flow along his body. Sleeping on the floor certainly did a number on his circulation though, because when Goro made to pad out of the practise room and into the staff break room, he felt pinpricks and static shoot up his legs from the very soles of his feet.

He needed coffee— aside from that, he needed to stop associating _Akira_ with coffee.

The day was Sunday and that meant the studio was closed. Goro could make himself a cup and down it with slow sips before he decided to get back to the apartment— and that was precisely his plan when he prepared the machine before turning on the sink’s faucet. For one reason or another, Goro felt the need to be alone more, like spending all night working himself to exhaustion wasn’t enough space.. and it _wasn’t_.

Goro wasn’t thinking about _it_ as slow ballads echoed throughout the too-big practise room all these past few nights, after classes and during day-offs; He wasn’t thinking about _it_ when he was focusing on how to move his body, or when he was making new choreography; Hell, Goro wasn’t even thinking about _it_ as much anymore whenever he smelled the rich aroma of coffee, or heard the orchestra of notes of a too-familiar song play from his phone because _of course_ he couldn’t change his ringtone from one of his favourite Joker songs; And now that he somewhat had the mental capacity to let his mind go adrift with repressed and avoided thoughts, he _was _thinking about it— Thinking about _Akira_, thinking about the conversation they had in his club, thinking about what an absolute _asshole _the man was but at the same time how fucking _sad _he looked— and he needed to _stop_.

Mutely, he splashed water on his face, feeling himself awaken more and more as he rubbed at his eyes. After that, he’d do naught but bend forwards with forearms on the countertop, head hovering below the running faucet as he closed his eyes. Goro needed to take the chance to let his thoughts be washed away (both literally and metaphorically) even if only for a _bit_— Because the smell of coffee that wafted from the appliance sitting next to him still brought back images of black hair and a playful smile, and that still _hurt_.

But shouldn’t it _not_ hurt anymore? Shouldn’t the ache in his chest be gone already at the mere _thought_ of that man? Goro thought himself pathetic for being so attached even after the fight from over a month ago, when clearly, the sentiment wasn’t shared.. not _entirely_, at least— Goro’s brain needed _something_ to latch onto to keep the fires burning.

_Always so cryptic. Always dancing around the topic. Always avoiding a straight answer._

Goro still couldn’t let go of the bits of anger that flicked a flame into existence in his head whenever he thought of the fight, but at the same time, it was just so goddamn _hard_ not to _miss_ Akira.  
It was hard to be away from him. It was hard to fall asleep without that melodious baritone in his ear. It was hard to focus on work. It was hard to really find anything to do without Akira dragging him somewhere, or without Akira to text and call, or without Akira to show up at his apartment with dinner and a new movie. Hell, it was hard not to miss the scent of coffee and fabric softener on the sheets and pillows.

But maybe.. Maybe he _needed_ this; Maybe _they_ needed this.. The distance. The withdrawal. Maybe even the friendship ending. Maybe they were bad for each other, but how could that be when Goro felt like they were oh so _perfect_ for each other during the good times?

But then again, wasn’t that how he saw Asahi? The only difference was, that Akira wasn’t lying to him or isolating him. He’s never pulled any red flags before. Goro was _sure_ the mental checklist he had of shady signs was still _blank_ after months of spending time with Akira.

So why did it still feel like there was a sickness in his gut that told him that he was _wrong_?

A _click_ resounded from beside him, then. Goro turned off the faucet and squeezed the water from his hair as a strong, rich aroma hit his sense of smell, along with memories that stung and a bright smile he was trying so fucking _hard_ to forget already.

_Akira._

His coffee was ready. 

* * *

“_Ann_? I’m home.”

He felt gross. There was grime from sweat dried on his skin since the night before, he didn’t have a comb to really fix his hair, and the clothes he wore stank with.. well,_ more_ sweat. But that didn’t stop Ann from emerging from within her room and bulldozing into Goro with a hug.

“Hey. Welcome home, gummy bear,” she began, arms wrapped tight around his neck, her tone of voice careful and tinged with concern like the past few days. Ann had resorted to letting Goro do what he felt needed to be done to get over Akira, and would only greet him once he’d returned home, whatever time that may have been. That morning was another instance, so Goro would only (weakly) wrap one arm around the woman to return her embrace.

“You doing okay? Got breakfast yet? Shiho came by this morning and we left you some pancakes if you wanted to eat something, so..”

Pancakes. His favourite. Goro could go for a stuffing before he crashed onto his bed— Sleeping on the hardwood of the studio’s dance floor hadn’t exactly helped with getting the rest his body (and mind) needed.

“Thanks, Ann. I don’t—”

“_Shush_.” Ann pulled back, shaking her head a bit. “Don’t say you don’t deserve me again. I’m _here_ for you, Goro. I’ll _always_ be.. Don’t you ever forget that, okay?”

Goro felt tears prick the corners of his eyes, and though he’d try to hide them with an almost-artificial smile he had to tug up his cheeks, the gratitude settled in his mind all the same. _Truly_, he didn’t deserve Ann— But that was _exactly_ what she’d told him not to think about, wasn’t it?

“.. Thanks.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do,” Goro managed to laugh, though just a bit. Still, that brief chuckle seemed to brighten up the woman’s already-bright eyes, and Goro was relieved he could at least be _less_ of an emotional burden on Ann now.

After toeing off his sneakers, Goro would only go in and out of his room to discard his bag onto the floor beside his bed. When he was back to the hallway, he’d catch a brief glimpse of Ann on _her_ bed, phone pressed against her ear, through the small gap of her ajar bedroom door. He figured he’d at least not bother the conversation with whoever was on the other end of the line (though his bet was high on it being Shiho) and so would wander into the kitchen, in search of the promised pancakes— Because though the coffee from earlier had staved off some of his hunger, the rumble of Goro’s stomach made it clear he needed _food_.

And lo, sitting atop the circular dining table, was a plate of three pancakes stacked upon one another under their glass cloche. As Goro approached one of the chairs and sat himself before the breakfast food, he caught sight of the runny syrup that’d settled at the base of the stack, the mostly-melted square of butter that sat at the top.. hints of blue dotting the surface of the topmost pancake.  
They were made more evident now that he’d removed the semi-opaque cloche covering his pancakes, and as he pulled the plate towards himself, he felt a too-painful stab to his heart at the recognition of just _what_ kind of pancakes the girls had left him.

“_Blueberry_..” he muttered, a bitter smile creeping up his cheeks.

With a hand over his eyes and with his bottom lip caught between his teeth, Goro would sob as quietly as he could. 

* * *

Staying in one position for hours on end, hunched over and with his feet propped up on the chair he sat on, maybe wasn’t the _best_ decision he’d made— But then again, which of his decisions as of late had been anywhere near _good_? As of the moment though, as he finally sat up into a vaguely-proper posture, Akira’s back ached and his muscles felt sore. His eyes felt dry and he was _sure_ they were bloodshot— Maybe that was why Futaba yelped a bit when he turned and looked at her, finally, after the woman had been standing in his room for a little over twenty minutes. The only surprise that came to him was that Ryuji wasn’t also in the room, being the one to even bring his sister to Shinjuku.

But Ryuji was probably raiding his kitchen, or finding something to use so he could dump water on Akira in case he hadn’t snapped out of his focus yet. That was unnecessary, because since Futaba had unplugged his headphones and snatched them away, Akira was stopped midway (_interrupted, _rather) into composing another song.

“Futaba, give them back,” he grumbled, hand darting towards the woman to try and retrieve his beloved headphones.

His chair squeaked as it rolled to his sister’s figure, but Futaba took five steps back, holding them behind herself now. She didn’t make any attempt at hiding her partial distaste/mostly sympathy at the man’s situation, brows furrowed downwards and lips tugged into a frown— though her eyes remained soft. She stared back at Akira with the headphones held fast.

“_No_.”

“_Futaba_—”

“Futaba, I got the water!”

Ryuji’s footsteps thundered into the bedroom, and the first thing that Akira caught sight of was the bowl of water held in the blonde’s hands. When his gaze shifted back to Futaba, she’d turned her head to look back at their friend. He didn’t waste the opportunity to get off his chair and dive to snatch his headphones back— But the unexpected to happen came in the form of his legs giving in and Akira stumbling to the floor, coming to a stop right beside his bed.

His legs felt.. _asleep_? It was a bit more than that— But he had his headphones back, so..

“Akira,” he heard Futaba mumble, her tone a threat as he made to stand and make his way back to his chair, “Akira, _listen_ for a second.”

Akira shook his head.

“I’m _fine_, you don’t need to worry.”

“_Bullshit_.”

He felt a hand grasp onto his wrist, only looking back to see Futaba had reached out and had a vice grip tightened around it. The woman was looking up to his eyes now, and Akira knew it wasn’t a trick of the light when he saw a bit of himself looking back at him.

It was jarring.

“Look at you! You’ve been wearing the same shirt since last Wednesday, you haven’t stepped out of your place in _weeks_, and you’ve just been on your computer for _God_ knows how long! Do you even know what day it is anymore?” Futaba made no move to hold back, it seemed. Akira couldn’t say that he _did_ know what the date was— The sunrises and sunsets he’d seen through the blinds bled together too easily. Was it still late September? Early October?

“I still go to the club to work.”

“_Answer the question, Akira._”

“It’s.. It’s October,” he’d only reply, though it was no secret that he didn’t actually _know_ by the too-obvious hesitance in his tone. Judging by the grip that’d tightened around his wrist, he was wrong.

“Dude, it’s November 5.”

Akira’s eyes snapped to the head of blonde hair by his bed, the bowl set on the nightstand beside it. Ryuji strolled towards him, arms crossed over his chest, and when he stopped beside Futaba was when Futaba decided to release his arm. She knew he was too stunned to really want to go back to work, with the revelation that a full _month_ had passed since he really looked at a calendar. It had to be a lie, right?

But when he was faced with the lockscreen of Ryuji’s phone though—where a big ’_05/11_’ was displayed below the time—he.. mentally shut down for a moment.

If anything was jarring, it was _that_.

“It’s been _two months_ since the festival..?”

The two stayed quiet.

“It’s been a month since I saw him..”

Akira’s gaze fell to the floor.

“I haven’t stopped writing songs in _weeks_.”

He looked at the headphones in his hand.

More than a month had passed since his last mission; More than a month had gone by since he started producing songs as a means to escape reality; More than _one_ _month_ since Akira and Goro last spoke to each other in The Metaverse.  
Was that why the bullet wound had already gone numb? Was that why his body felt weaker than before? Was that why he’d lost count on how _many_ songs he’d produced? How many _had_ Akira written since he started?

How many of them were songs to distract him from Goro?

“Akira..”

Quietly, he would pad back to his work station. Akira stood by his chair, eyes gazing down at the screen before him opened to the current track he was working on: It was an unnamed piece (as the many others before it) though he guessed it sounded as lifeless as _he_ had been.. Or maybe, it was another melancholic song. There was really only one way to find out.

He pressed the spacebar, and from the lone speaker in his room, the music flowed into his ears.

The main melody was sampled from an impromptu piece he made during mid-September. The backing effects were minimalistic, only coming and going every four beats. The only constant sound that played were those of the piano’s soft, slow notes and a complimentary bass guitar, strung together mindlessly during Akira’s mindless producing-binge.  
This song had no clear rising or falling, only had the constant melody with no real shift in keys even after countless measures.

It was like a hollow shell: Pretty and smooth, but empty within either way.

The track stopped after thirty seconds of the same, droning sounds once it’d reached the point when Akira was snapped out of his focus earlier. He set his headphones down onto the surface of the desk, making no move to sit back down or really do much of _anything_.

He simply stood there, shoulders slumped forwards, staring down at the tracks and the few individual instruments laid out in neat rows on the screen.

This had been his life for a month— maybe _more_, at that point.

“I know just staying inside your room all day and being on a computer is the easy thing to do..” Futaba had spoken up, voice so quiet it was a miracle Akira could hear her, “.. But didn’t you teach me that there’s more to living than _that_? Than what you’re doing _now_? Weren’t _you_ the one that saved me from spending the rest of my life in my room, Akira?”

Of course, he was. He stood outside Futaba’s room for hours on end years ago just _talking_ to her through her door, trying to get her to get off her computer and come out.

Ironic, how the tables had turned.

“Then you should let me return the favour, you idiot.”

There was a hand on his back then, patting and rubbing in circles awkwardly because, _well_, Futaba was still perfecting the art of physical comfort. The fact that she was even trying had touched him (literally _and_ metaphorically) anyway.

“You don’t have to think about _him_ and we don’t even have to talk about it but..”

Akira stumbled a bit at the sudden arm thrown over his shoulders, Ryuji’s weight leaning onto him as soon as he followed up.

“Me n’ Futaba wanted to take you _outside_ for once, man. Get some fresh air n’ shit. I mean if it worked for shorty over here, it’ll probably work for _you_, right?”

“I’m _not_ that short!” Futaba fired back, looking up at Ryuji from Akira’s left.

“Y’have to get big, ol’ Yusuke to get your glasses _for_ you, shorty. You’re_ short_.”

“_Yeah_, well consider your deepest, darkest secrets from high school _leaked_, asshat.”

Ryuji had rolled his eyes dismissively, Akira only catching it between his head swivelling left to right to keep up with their banter.

“_Yeah_, yeah. Y’never make good on your threats, I don’t gotta be worried.”

“I’ll actually do it this time, I swear to _God _I’ll—”

But Futaba couldn’t finish her threat— because by then, they’d managed to pull a laugh out of Akira. He was chuckling between his two friends, shoulders shaking and eyes shut. A hand had shot up to cover his mouth in a futile attempt to keep it down, eyes shifting between the two as he shook his head.

“No, don’t mind me!” he exclaimed, only laughing _more_ when Futaba and Ryuji simply _stared_ (dumbfounded) at him.

“What—”

“Dude..”

“He’s losing it.”

“Don’t look at _me_, _you’re_ his sister! Shouldn’t _you_ know what to do?!”

“_You’re_ his best friend!”

At this point, Akira had doubled in on himself, crouching down onto the floor as he held his sides. His breaths came in short and rapid gasps with how _hard_ he’d laughed, his core squeezing tight and his chest feeling constricted at the little air he was breathing in. He allowed the two standing over him to bicker and argue for a bit more before Akira decided he needed to intervene with a hand raised and waving to get their attention.

“You guys, I’ll go! I’ll _go outside_, okay, just _stop—_ I can’t _breathe_—”

There was a moment’s pause then, and when Akira peered up at the two of them with a grin splitting across his cheeks, he’d only find Futaba and Ryuji staring down at his still-crouched figure, faces twisted in _incredulity_.

“Was that _seriously_ all it took?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Akira nodded, standing again.

“Y’had us worried y’were losing your shit just to say you’re comin’ with us?” Ryuji followed up, tone _much_ more disbelieving than Futaba’s.

Again, Akira nodded. 

“Yup.” He popped the _p_ for emphasis.

“And you’re serious about wanting to go outside? Like, you’re not shitting us, right?”

“I said I’d go, didn’t I?” Akira laughed.

Futaba stared up at him for a few seconds, peering and judging his eyes to trace the signs that he might’ve been lying. Results ended _negative_.

“Okay.. Actually wait, _no_, not okay— You stink.”

“I don’t smell _that_ much—”

“Dude, y’smell like the old gym lockers at Shujin.”

“Deodorant—”

“_Shower_,” the two said in unison. Well, it was _one_ of the few things they could agree on, at least.

Akira was quick to pick out an outfit from within his closet right afterwards, and was soon pushed into his own bathroom by Futaba and Ryuji with the clothes in his hands and with Mona meowing after them in confusion. The entire time, he’d been laughing and smiling at the two. Jokes came naturally off his tongue, little quips and smartass responses firing off his lips before the door closed and he’d set his change of clothes onto the surface of the counter.

He fished his phone from the pocket of his sweats, set it down beside his clothes, and had begun to strip himself with a grin on his cheeks. As soon as he’d gotten his shirt off, though, the corners of his lips fell as easily as he’d pinned them up; the delighted shine in his eyes flicked off like a switch, and it was then, as he looked into the mirror, did he see the perfect actor staring back at him.

Akira was going to go outside with his friends and walk around and have fun; He wanted nothing more than to be locked up inside his room. 

* * *

“A change of scenery actually isn’t all that bad..”

“_Right_? Isn’t it nice to be outside for once?”

He supposed she was right. The autumn breeze was a bit refreshing compared to the stuffy air of the studio practise rooms.

With arms linked, Ann and Goro had been roaming Inokashira Park for just over two hours at that point. They’d been mindlessly wandering around, following trails and diverging from them to find new ones and simply walk around, Ann sometimes stopping to text. Though Goro had covered a large majority of the grounds already (because of _someone_ who shall not be named) it was still good exercise and a good chance to spend more time with his best friend— Because honestly, between Ann’s dates with Shiho and Goro slowly but surely slipping back into the darkest zones of his emotions, they both needed the time together again. Goro found Ann’s presence was always pleasant, always _calming_ (when she wasn’t insisting they get blackout drunk, anyway, but Goro still loved her.)

“I have to admit, I wasn’t really too keen on going outside today.. Or for a long time, for that matter. Thanks for dragging my sorry ass out here.”

“_Shush_. I love you _and_ your ass, okay? You still need to show me how to get glutes like yours.”

Goro didn’t stop himself from chuckling.

They were passing by the edges of Inokashira then, just a bit farther away before they found the lake. Goro didn’t need to wrack his brain very much to locate approximately where they were, due to some particular landmarks he’d committed to memory after—

_No. Stop thinking about him. You’re here with your best friend right now. She wants you to be happy. **Stop**._

—after he and Akira visited and roamed Inokashira Park so many times that he could probably have a blindfold tied around his eyes and he’d _still_ be able to find their spot on the playground swings.

_Goddammit._

“—ay, gummy bear?”

Ann was staring at him, worry in her eyes. It was what snapped Goro back to their conversation.

“Sorry, I was spacing out again. What was the question?”

“I asked if you were okay. You looked like you were about to cry.”

Goro reached a hand up to touch his cheeks, feeling around for any tears that might’ve slipped out on accident. Luckily for him, his fingers came back down dry.

“I’m fine, I’m just..” he tried to smile, an attempt at appeasing his friend’s worries, “.. a little distracted today. It was weird waking up alone in the studio again, y’know?”

The grip on his arm tightened a bit, Ann squeezing it to comfort him.

“I get it. It’s like staying at a hotel on two occasions that are years apart, right?”

Goro’s eye caught on the bench they’d just passed by, noting the small, faint scratches etched onto the wood. He’d rip his gaze back to Ann before he looked _too _obvious.

“Kind of. Imagine if you had to move back to your parents’ place basically, but I don’t really know what that feels like so I can’t confirm it’s the same feeling.”

A beat of silence. He could see the cogs turning Ann’s head through her eyes, as if she was contemplating her next few words. Behind her, Goro caught a glimpse of the tree bent awkwardly and just a _bit_ weirdly out of shape, enough for it to be warranted as a landmark apparently. They were nearing the spot already?

“You.. You’re really giving up on getting his attention, huh? Why not keep trying?”

A sigh left his lips before he could catch it, Goro opting to look up at the sky instead. They’d already talked about this—_multiple_ times—but Ann never seemed to get that he just didn’t _care_ about the guy when he was twenty-three years old now.

Didn’t care as much as when he was a kid, anyway.

“What’s the point anymore? You’d figure that if he worked so hard on getting his name off the documents, he doesn’t want me. I’d be an inconvenience— and aside from that, who would even believe some dancer saying he was _that_ kind of person’s _son_? Pretty unbelievable, if you ask me..

“Besides, I have a job, I finished high school. I pretty much made it without his help, so what’s really the point of getting his attention when I’m an independent adult and I can make my own choices now?”

Looking back down to Ann, he’d find the woman shrugging. Her head bobbed in a single nod.

“I guess.”

They strolled for a bit more in silence, Goro re-finding little, personal landmarks and spotting familiar benches as they did. He was comfortable in the quiet air around them, naught but the sound of birds flying and trees rustling really filling that quiet.

Goro knew that they were close to the playground (just had to turn right where they stood, actually) before a familiar ringtone broke the silence between them.  
Ann was quick to slip her phone out of her pocket and check the message she’d gotten, Goro only stopping with her as she read the text in the middle of the path. It was soon that she was looking up at him with a certain urgency in her eyes that told Goro it was (and quote) “_super important”_ levels of importance.

“Hey, do you know anywhere we could sit at for a while?” she asked, clutching onto Goro’s arm still. He was hesitant, but if whatever she’d been texted was _that_ important to her..

“There’s this playground near here. Barely anyone goes there at this hour.”

Goro checked his wristwatch, the hands reading _06:21_. He nodded as if to re-affirm his statement, and when he looked back to Ann, she’d begun urging him to get them there _as soon as possible_.

And so which was why Goro found himself guiding his best friend to the playground he’d spent a majority of summer in, where he and _he who shall not be named anymore_ talked and teased and sometimes even stayed until late night. The moment he sat on his usual swing, Ann had to make a call, only signalling that she needed to take it in private before taking a few paces to the side— _Well_ out of earshot.

Which really only left Goro with the option to wait for his friend, gloved hands grasping the metal chains of the swing he hadn’t visited in a while.  
As he awaited Ann’s return, Goro would push himself into a slow rock, eyes up at the sky. Twilight was upon them already, which really only made him wonder just how _long_ they’d been walking and when Ann’s call was going to end— It was all he could think of to suppress the memories of hours spent with a certain man with black hair and deep, abyss-like eyes, which reflected starlight like a pair of obsidian mirrors that focused on no one but _him_.

“_Oh_..”

Fuck, he did it again.

Goro’s gaze fell back to where he last saw Ann. He needed to gauge how much longer of this self-inflicted torture he had to endure— and would see _nothing_ but green patches of grass and trees.

“_Ann_?”

It was.. It had to be a joke, right? It had to be a really bad joke that Ann just so happened to dress up in Goro’s clothes (minus that _very _familiar black coat,) cut and dye her hair to match his, and sit the exact same way as he did on his swing, because the person who was just a few feet in front of him _couldn’t _be Goro Akechi, right?

_Right_?

Oh, but how cruel a mistress Fate was.

When Goro turned his head, and Akira saw those red eyes stare back at him, he’d nearly dropped his phone to the ground. When he saw them widen for just a _split_-second (no doubt shocked and alarmed) he felt his pulse start to race. When they looked at each other, and it was getting _hard_ to break eye contact, Akira almost wanted to run.. but he didn’t.

Even if his heartrate beat hard against his chest, and even if his mind blanked the _second_ he saw Goro, and _even **if** _the gaze that never wavered from his hurt like fucking _Hell_ as he was reminded of everything that’d transpired between them; He didn’t move.  
Instead, when he felt his phone once more vibrate in the palm of his hand, Akira (with a heavy heart and an even heavier inhale) closed his eyes and re-opened them when he’d lowered his head to look at the message. He didn’t _dare _think more about why the _fuck_ Goro was here, lest he really _would_ just take off from where he came from. 

* * *

**sailor moon (sent 17:50)  
hey, some of your stuff is still here and goro kinda wants them gone (** **っ- ‸ – ς)**  
**sorry but can you come pick them up or something?**

**You (sent 17:50)**  
**i’m out with futaba and ryuji rn.**  
**we’re at inokashira so idk if i can stop by later.**

**sailor moon (sent 17:52)**  
**that’s perfect!! i’m heading out there too bc date with shiho <3**  
**mind if we just bring them to you?**  
**there’s this playground that’s hard to miss, so we can just meet up there!!**

**You (sent 17:56)  
sure. i’ll text you when we’re there.**

**You (sent 18:20)**  
**might be late a little bit.**  
**waiting for futaba and ryuji to get back from wherever they went.**

**sailor moon (sent 18:20)  
it’s fine!!**

**sailor moon (sent 18:33)  
take a seat while i grab your stuff!! **

* * *

Clearly, that was a lie. Akira could see that now. Were Futaba and Ryuji in on this, too? Was that why they were taking so long to “_find a vending machine_”?

Whatever the reasons may have been, or whoever orchestrated this, Akira would stay where he stood, legs crossed, hands in his pockets and looking off to the side. Due to the chill of early November settling in, Akira didn’t really think when he grabbed a random, coffee-coloured coat from his closet; He didn’t really think about why it felt just a _bit_ wrong to wear it.  
But now, seeing _his_ black coat on Goro and realising that the stare Goro bore onto the brown coat _he_ wore couldn’t possibly mean anything _else_.. It was hard to ignore him.

But did Akira really _want_ to ignore him? This could be his chance to maybe _end_ things, keep Goro safe while at the same time not make him feel bad. It was a win-win!

_In case you’ve forgotten, Akira, you fucking **suck** at explaining shit. Don’t even **try**._

Akira began stepping towards the swing next to Goro’s.

_No. Please, **no**. Stay **away**, don’t make this harder on us anymore._

Goro had closed his eyes once he saw Akira take that first step closer, would only keep them squeezed shut _especially _when he heard the familiar _creak_ of the swing’s metal chains beside him. He couldn’t look at Akira now (_refused_ to look at him) and so would only grasp at the coat he wore, pulling the lapels closer and closer together as if he could disappear within the black void if he compressed into it hard enough.

Maybe he could. It would be a goddamn _lifesaver_ if so. Goro didn’t want to make the weeks of adapting to separation just _disappear_, just like that. He was getting so _good_ at not missing the man’s smile, be it shy or cocky or devilish.  
But Akira was _there_ now. Akira was sitting next to him on the swings they used to always hang out on. Akira, with his presence alone (sometimes even _without_ that) brought back the memories of afternoons and nights spent here, alone together, talking and laughing and Goro falling harder and deeper every _single_ time. Goro _hated_ it.

But maybe what he hated more was the silence between them— It was suffocating. It made Goro want to choke, made him want to wrap his gloved hands around his own throat and _squeeze_ because Goro would take _anything_ other than having to face Akira again _this_ soon, or _this_ close. 

He shook his head. He needed to stop thinking like that again.

Goro just had to wait for Ann. That was the _one_ thing he needed to do before he could leave. He could ignore the way his heart pounded against his ribcage; He could ignore the ache in his chest; He could just pretend that Akira didn’t exist and maybe let some of his anger taint his subconscious while sitting next to him.

He just had to remember the man’s words to him, that night at the club. Just..

_“You’re not just a friend to me.” That’s what he said. That’s what you are. Why does he have to be so fucking cryptic? Why do you have to say this vague bullshit? What am I **really**_ _to you? Can’t you just—_

“Just tell me the _truth_..” Goro mumbled.

He bit his tongue the moment he realised he’d vocalised it. Of course, Akira was quick to shoot back a reply.

“Tell you _what_?”

“_Nothing_.”

There was a moment of silence that passed between them soon afterwards. For a second, Goro let the tenseness in his shoulders relax, let his breaths come out less laboured and more even. He could get through this. He just had to _not_ look at Akira. He just had to _not look at Akira_. He just had to—

Turning his head, peering an eye open, was the worst fucking mistake he’s ever made in his life.  
Because the moment he saw the reds, the violets, and the oranges of dusk bounce off of those glassy, black eyes, the next thing he really registered was the feel of lips brushing up against his own.

First, came the realisation.  
Second, came the seconds he’d succumbed to it.  
Third, came the utter _disgust_ he felt towards the man just as teeth clamped down on his bottom lip, Goro pushing Akira to the ground _soon _afterwards.

Lip bleeding, heart _pounding, _Goro did naught but glare down at the sly look in his eyes and the cocky fucking _smirk_ that Akira stared back up at him with. He didn’t even look at all guilty for the blood staining his own lips—_Goro’s_ blood staining his lips—as he sat on the dirt and grass. 

“Akira, what the _Hell_?!”

“You wanted the _truth_, I gave you _the_ _truth_.”

Akira had picked himself up off the ground then, making no move to wipe away the blood seeping onto his tongue. With slow steps, he approached Goro—closer, _closer_—even as the brunette backed up against the frame of the swingset. It was a ballsy move, but Akira still loosely tangled his fingers into those brown locks, face leaning _far_ too near to Goro’s own.

“The truth is, I just wanted to _fuck_ you since the beginning, Goro. Are you happy?”

Looking into those red eyes (the eyes that burned with a rage) Akira wholly expected a punch delivered to his face. Hell, he was in the _perfect_ position to be punched. He’d already braced himself, could handle a hit— Which was why it was confusing how, even after seconds had passed, there wasn’t any pain spreading across his cheek yet.

Instead, there was only Goro looking straight into his eyes, something akin to a glare (but not quite one) sent to Akira’s way.

“You’re lying, aren’t you?”

He pinned the smirk up higher on his cheeks.

“Now why would you think I’d—”

Goro pushed past him.

“_Akira_. If there’s something I _know_, it’s that if you were really only after my ass, you would have jumped on the first chance to fuck me and take it. No one who’s only after a good fuck would put the time and effort spanning _months_ like you did.

“How many times have we slept in the same bed? How many opportunities of stripping me naked did you have? Just by knowing I’m a such a big fan of your music should make it _painfully_ clear I would be more than willing to be fucked by you anytime, just because you’re someone I admire _that _much.. So why didn’t you? What was the point of getting to know me if all you wanted from me was _sex_?”

Akira didn’t try to defend the lie anymore; Goro had caught him dead-on. Instead, he opted for silence, to simply wait and listen to what Goro would say next— and it didn’t take very long before Goro figured his being quiet was a push to continue.

“Honestly, I already have a hunch. With _you_ though, nothing is ever so simple.. So can you _please_”—their eyes met—“just be honest with me and tell me the truth?”

A sigh slipped past his lips, a remorseful smile tugging up just _barely_.

“I don’t want you getting hurt. And like I said back in the club, I wasn’t _rejecting_ you, but I just.. have too much on my plate. That’s all I can say for now.”

Goro’s eyes fell from his, gaze coming to rest instead on the grass beneath their shoes.

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“Well..”

It happened in a blur: Goro grabbing onto his collar, and then the leather-clad fist that met with his cheek. White-hot pain bloomed across his face but still, he was given the benefit of being kept upright by Goro himself before he’d let go of his shirt.

There was already an ache there when Akira tested his jaw after stumbling backwards, one hand cupping the underside of it as he moved his mouth side to side.

“That was for the kiss and the bite. I can’t quite say I’m sorry about that.”

“I was expecting it, don’t worry.”

“And about _us_..” Goro shook his head. “I still stand by what I said after the festival. I need time to think about everything.”

“Huh..” Akira rubbed at his cheek now, and then underneath his nose when he felt blood start to drip. “I understand. Whatever you choose to do, I’ll respect it.”

“Lastly, before I take my leave.”

Akira would watch as Goro reached into the breastpocket of his (Akira’s?) coat, producing a red and gold-striped, white handkerchief from within. This, he offered to Akira, folded up into a neat square on the palm of his hand. 

“For the nosebleed. You don’t have anything to cover it, plus I don’t want my coat to get bloodstains, so..”

It was a brief exchange, a quick brush-up between skin and leather when Akira accepted the handkerchief and pressed it against his nostrils. He’d nod in thanks, and knew it wasn’t just _him_ that felt awkward standing there, next to each other. Goro could only cough into a fist.

“I’ll _go_, then.”

“Thanks for the handkerchief.”

“Don’t mention it.”

A pause, right after Goro had turned back to the path leading out of the playground. The sun had completely set by then and the lamp posts and lanterns scattered around Inokashira Park became its only sources of light. From afar, they almost resembled twinkling fairy lights.

“.. Bye, Akira.”

Akira leaned back into the frame of the swingset, the handkerchief pressed underneath his nose. Through the blood, he got faint hints of that vanilla/peppermint scent that always clung to Goro. 

“Bye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> b le gh h e y to anyone still reading lmao  
i k now this is super duper late but i promise updates will be back to the regular 1 update/week schedule again for now  
school was really hectic the past two weeks so oof ya girl got w a y too busy to write so sorry about that
> 
> but yes here it is  
more angst lmao  
it's 6 am and i have class in two hours but y'all know it was damn well worth it for me
> 
> (also holy shit was writing hard after being disconnected to it for d a ys. i lost touch w the characters a bit so sorry if they act differently)
> 
> listen list !!  
rini - meet me in amsterdam  
jaymes young x phoebe ryan - we won't  
kalyna rakel - so removed  
x ambassadors - unsteady


	22. Track 21 (A side)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the lone and level sands—

It was a wonder, something most definitely debatable: Should he thank Akira for walking with him around Inokashira Park so many times before, or not? At the moment, with tears blurring the corners of his vision—tears that he tried _desperately_ to blink away in anger—Goro was leaning towards thanking his _muscle_ _memory_ instead for leading him down the path back out of the playground, _without_ needing to see where he was going. Akira could go suck on a dick for all he cared.

“Hey! Goro!”

Goro slowed his accelerated stomping once the voice of his best friend cut through the mostly-silent air of that area in Inokashira. He turned, looking over his shoulder as he stood amidst the cold November atmosphere beside the lake— and lo and behold, Ann was sprinting towards him with a wide smile on her cheeks and with her bright eyes lit up in excitement. This time, he could only wonder what had happened during the woman’s phone call that made her so _happy_.

Ann had come to a panting stop in front of Goro then, bent by the knees only slightly as she caught her breath. Goro could see sweat trickle down the woman’s forehead when she looked up at him, grin stretched ear to ear.

“_So_?” she began, voice expectant. Goro felt his skin crawl at the assumption that’d popped into his head then, springing forth solely from the excitement evident in his best friend’s voice. “What happened? Did you and Akira fix your problems now?”

Ah, he was right.

Goro.. honestly _did_ love Ann Takamaki, with all of his heart and soul even. In that moment though, when the pieces clicked in place inside his head and he’d only stare at the blonde standing before him (whose head angled up to meet his gaze) Goro wanted to yell.  
It wasn’t specifically at _her_, it was at _everything_: At what happened in mid-September, at the events that followed afterwards, at Akira being cryptic and Ann being too nosy. He wanted to scream into the air with the mess of emotions that stormed within his mind, wanted to shout his frustrations at the sky. He needed to let out the pent-up steam that’d been building within him maybe since the kiss with Akira, maybe since the first day they started ignoring each other.

But, instead, he’d ball his hands into fists and purse his lips taut. It took a while before he could give his reply.

“Ann. Did you bring..”—he gulped—"_Akira_.. here?”

_Damn_ was it hard to even say his name. Goro felt his throat strain when he’d uttered it. As he saw those lips widen just _millimetres_ more though, he already begun forming the words in his head, stomach feeling squeamish at even the prospect having to burst Ann’s bubble.

“And _you’re welcome_ about that! Seriously, everyone’s been wondering when you two would stop—”

“_Ann_.” Goro had to gulp again as he witnessed Ann’s smile fade. He took in a deep breath, making sure to lay his words down as _gently _as his voice could. “Look, I really appreciate all that you do for me, okay? You know I love you but _please_.. Please stop bringing us together like this from now on without me giving you the _okay._”

He fought the urge to avert his eyes— Fought the urge to burst into a sobbing mess right then and there.

“I don’t want to see him right now, maybe for a few more months, I don’t know— I know that all you want to do is help us but I need the space from him. I can’t do confrontations like you do.”

For a moment or two, Ann had stayed quiet. She was looking up at him still, but her smile was completely wiped and the shine in her eyes flickered off. Goro could read her emotions through the little twitches of her features: From the shock that came with her lips parting open just _slightly_, to the regret that showed in her widened eyes, to the remorse.

She would stutter for a bit, and Goro could see her fidget with her hands. Even as he looked her in the face, he knew that she was picking at her nails, affirmed only when she began nibbling on her lip— _Hard_. It was a habit they both shared.

Ann opened her mouth. Then closed. Pursed her lips. Opened them again. The next thing Goro knew, she had her arms around his waist, her body pressed to his in a tight embrace, her face buried in his coat.

“I’m.. I’m so _sorry_—” she shook her head against the dark fabric. “I don’t know, I just.. He made you so _happy_ these past few months, and I thought that maybe you’ve forgiven him for what he did at this point and just—”

The woman hiccupped once, _twice_, before continuing. At that point, Goro had wrapped his arms around her smaller frame in kind. It was too natural for him to return his best friend’s embraces in times like these, despite the lingering feeling of something like anger in his gut— Because he knew that Ann was _just_ as bad as him at apologies, when it was this serious.

“I thought you’d be back together again if you met up after all this time. I’m _sorry_, Goro.”

Her shoulders were shaking then. Goro could feel it even as he hugged Ann as tightly as she hugged him. One of his hands came up to card through her hair, petting her, trying to soothe his best friend as he cooed and shushed. All the while, he felt a part of his anger melt away.

“Hey, you’re my _best friend_,” he began, “You didn’t make the _best_ decisions, but I know you were only trying to fix things for us. You wanted to _help_. I understand what you were trying to do, and I love you a lot and I forgive you, but don’t pull anything like this again, okay? Promise me.”

With her face buried in his shoulder, Ann nodded. Looking up, Goro couldn’t stop himself from laughing weakly at the redness and puffiness of her eyes: Quite the match they were, with almost-there sobs and with tears threatening to spill from their eyes.

“I promise,” Ann nodded once more. She brought her sleeve to her eyes and dabbed at the corners, eyes angled up at the sky as she dried her tears. Even emotional, she still took care of her makeup, and Goro thought that it was just _like_ Ann: It was such an _Ann_ thing to do, just like trying to help though sometimes airheaded as she was such an _Ann _thing to do.  
Goro loved her. Loved the sweet, trying girl that she always _has_ been. Though they’ve been best friends for years, he knew this was still a learning process for her— That a vaguely-healthy relationship was still a first for him. How to help him through the problems that came with said first healthy relationship was something that they’d never really dealt with before.

Maybe it was good that that day happened, as much as there was still an ache in his chest from the encounter. Ann finally knew the boundaries he couldn’t get past, couldn’t exactly _vocalise_ before because he himself didn’t even know where it started and ended at the time.

After a sigh, Goro would look up at the sky, too, right as a few drops of cold rain fell onto his cheeks. He hugged the black coat close to himself as he and Ann made their way back to the station, only thinking of nothing but coffee and of times past— Times that he missed, underneath the layer of bitterness that came with the image of Akira’s face.

* * *

The last thing that Goro expected to hear, once he’d pushed through the front door of the studio that Sunday night, was music humming through the walls from the room at the very end of the corridor. It wasn’t exactly _unusual_ for the other choreographers to come here on off days, but there was still a curiosity that tugged at him and his feet as he padded down the hallway, peering in through the glass door of the practise room once he’d reached it.

With his lithe body facing the wall where the door was, his head was turned towards the mirrors. Judging by the sweat that slicked his face, made the short ponytail at the back of his head clump into one big, wet lock of black hair, and the patches that coloured his grey muscle shirt darker around his collar and armpits, Junji Nakamura had been here for a few hours already.  
And even as exhausted as he looked, those sharp, steel eyes of his still caught Goro’s figure standing on the other side of the door, head turning as if to really confirm he was indeed there, with his bag on one shoulder and with one of the studio’s keys in his hand.

Though he was surprised, Junji’s lips still broke out into a wide grin once Goro (still a bit stunned _Junji_ was here) waved his hand a bit in greeting. The brunette would push past the door, gaze still locked with those energetic, void-like eyes.

“Hey! What’re you doing here at _this_ hour, Goro?” Junji asked, strolling over to his water bottle in front of the mirror. As he downed a few gulps, Goro would silently shrug and push his jacket aside, revealing dance wear. He intended to spend another night in the studio, dancing and making up choreography as a means to distract him from.. from black eyes that resembled Junji’s.

Except Akira’s gaze was just a bit warmer than Junji’s. And the way his eyes curved up was more catlike and—

_Stop_.

“I wanted to practise,” Goro replied simply, dropping his bag and jacket beside Junji’s. The man himself kept his stare trained on Goro, one brow raised and with his lips pulled into a tight line.

“You’ve been staying behind to practise every day for the last couple of weeks, though.”

“You know dancing is pretty much my life.”

Junji shook his head.

“Even when you were living here, you didn’t go as hard as you do _now_. What’s up?”

And Goro would do nothing but smile brightly at him as he stretched his arms up.

“_Nothing_. Mind if I join you, though? I could use another set of drills and another lesson from you.”

There was a moment that passed wherein Junji simply stared at Goro with squinted eyes, like he was assessing him— _Hell_, Goro was sure that Junji definitely _was_ studying him. Analysing him. Trying to decipher his words and figure out the look in his eyes. It wasn’t with ill-intent, he knew that; Junji was pretty much everyone’s emotional support pillar in the studio, Goro _especially_.  
Goro just never really talked to Junji about his love life before because he didn’t even _have_ one. Aside from that, it was a bit weird discussing his crush problems to the man he gave a lapdance to while drunk off his ass, maybe more than _once_. Ann refused to tell him the _other_ stories about what the bravest piece of shit in the universe did.

Still, even after a minute or so of them holding eye contact (Goro trying his _damnest_ not to think of curly hair and fake glasses as he stared back at those black eyes) Junji was the one to relent, sighing as he set his water bottle back down and pressed play on his phone. Soon after, a familiar song began to ring around the studio from the sound system, and Goro easily recognised it as the even-tempo song he used to always do drills with when he took Junji’s classes as a teenager.

To the beat, they moved their arms from position to position. He watched himself in the mirror, Goro’s mind slipped back to the first few times he’d begun doing these very same exercises.  
It was like he was saw the shorter, scrawnier version of himself as he looked at his reflection, taking note of how quick and sharp his movements had become after years of doing the drills Junji taught. He looked into the mirror, and what stared back at him in his mind’s eye was the fifteen-year-old that worked part-time job after part-time job on top of school and dance just to support himself; He looked into the mirror, and saw the boy that was kicked out of the orphanage once he reached age eighteen.

He looked into the mirror, and saw himself, as he was— Twenty-three years old and able to support himself. Twenty-three and independent. Twenty-three and still longing for the gentle smile of his mother, for the attention of his father.. For a childhood that wasn’t as fucked up as _his_ was.

Goro felt his arms burning, his muscles flexed and hot from being pushed to the very brink of his limit. His movements were stiff as they should be as he went to the next positions, but a hand catching his wrist made him stop, head snapping to his right.

“The song is over, Goro.”

Unceremoniously, he let his arms drop. The relief of rest flooded up his muscles, and Goro began to stretch them out once more. All the while, Junji had his own arms crossed over his chest, eyeing Goro again— though this time there was a frown that pulled down from the corners of his lips, brows furrowed together as if he were deep in thought.

“You wanted another lesson from me?” he began, and Junji had said it in the way that made it sound more like a statement of fact than a question. Goro glanced at him for only a split-second with lips sealed shut, before he was promptly dragged to sit on the floor in front of the mirrors.

Junji settled down in front of him, cross-legged and leaning forwards just a bit towards Goro. With a simple nod of his head, he said, “Well, go on. I can’t give you a lesson without knowing what to teach you first.”

And Goro would simply train his eyes on the man for a bit. In his head, the initial thought was always _“don’t tell him” _because it was something he’d never before brought up to Junji yet.  
Whenever he needed advice from the other, it usually ranged from dance tips, to helping him calm down from a panic attack whenever Ann couldn’t. His love life had been brought up before, but really only his best friend knew of the entire story, so it was.. _something difficult_, to say the least.

Besides, _Akira_ was a hard topic to bring up in general.

His gaze dropped to the floor then. Inhaling deeply, Goro would sigh, before looking back into those black eyes— Black eyes that’ve seen him at his worst, when he was kicked at rock bottom.

“If you’re willing to listen, then..” Goro trailed off. He sighed again, eyes closing as he recollected the events in his mind. “What do you do when someone you’ve liked for more than half a year says he’s not _rejecting_ you but he can’t be with you?”

And that was how Goro Akechi ended up venting the events of the entire past eight months to his senior.  
He told Junji about how they met, about being a fan of his crush’s for a year before they even talked to each other for the first time, about the physical affection and the texts and the staying in each other’s homes— About the events in mid-September, what happened afterwards, about trying to distance himself from Akira and Ann trying to get them back together before he was even ready to send Akira a text.

About the unsent texts that were left as drafts, that were later deleted, asking Akira to come over so they could talk it out. Whenever he felt as if he could press that button, his mind seemed to always double down on the decision to back out of the chat log and then delete _another_ message meticulously typed over the course of an hour or two.  
Goro even told him about coming and staying in the studio late at night just because he couldn’t sleep and he needed to work himself to exhaustion to even just get some goddamn _rest_.

All the while Goro spoke and ranted, Junji would sit quietly before him. He’d nod occasionally, shift positions at times, but his eyes always stayed on Goro as his hands clasped together and he _listened_. By the end of his tale, Junji hummed, gaze to the ground.

“Y’know? Sounds like you’ve been through a lot these past few months.” He shrugged. “I don’t really know what advice to give you aside from _get therapy_, to be honest.”

“_Therapy_..?” Goro raised a brow, lips pursed together. “Find a therapist and go to a therapy session, you mean?”

“Yup,” he replied, popping the ‘_p_’ for emphasis, “Honestly Goro, going by how you describe what’s been happening between you and that guy, it’s sounding a lot like what happened to a friend of mine a while back. She told me it’s called _co-dependency_.”

“Like.. depending on someone?” Goro shrugged.

“But _worse_.” Junji shook his head briefly, leaning back with his palms flat behind himself. “It’s not bad to depend on your friends and count on them, but co-dependency is like.. Like you rely on someone for _everything_. You _depend_ on someone _too_ much.”

“Is that even..” Goro trailed off. He had half the mind to continue, though stopped himself midway after brief consideration. He supposed _anything_ was possible— That, along with the saying, _“too much of anything is bad.”_

So instead, he huffed lightly and leaned his cheek onto the heel of one hand, stare straight at the man with black hair before him.

“Therapy,” he repeated, as if to bring back the topic of their conversation. Junji would nod at him, the faintest hints of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“I know a pretty good therapist in Shibuya. Taken some family and friends to her, too. If you’re willing, I can bring you there as soon as a slot opens up in her schedule.”

As Junji scooted over to his bag, hands digging into the largest pocket to fish for his phone, Goro stared up at the ceiling. He didn’t know how or why, exactly, he ended up wanting to lay down on the hard and cold wooden floor of the spacious practise room, but when Junji had resumed his position from before, all Goro could really only see of him were the blurry edges of astray hair that stood up and flared out of the messy ponytail Junji tied it into.

“How is therapy even going to help me?” he droned quietly, fingers laced together atop his stomach, “I mean, what’s going to be the difference between a therapist listening to my problems and _you_ listening to my problems?”

“She’ll give you good advice.”

Goro lifted his head just briefly to look at his companion. Junji was invested in scrolling through his phone.

“_You _give good advice, don’t you?”

“_Short_-_term_. Therapy can change your life.”

He only let out a loud huff, waiting quietly soon afterwards as Junji tapped onto the screen of his phone. It wasn’t too long until it faced down on him, displaying a message to a contact in Junji’s phone named simply ‘_Miyuki Tachibana’_.

“I asked her if and when she can accept a new client,” came Junji’s explanation, the smile evident in his voice, “Just gotta wait until she replies.”

The phone disappeared from his view, and Goro would only close his eyes. The overheard lights beaming down into his eyeballs wasn’t exactly the most _pleasant_ of experiences, and after explaining two-thirds of a year’s worth of events (events that included _Akira_) exhausted him out faster than dancing for six hours straight did. Goro couldn’t be bothered to really _think_ about things at the moment, and if Junji insisted therapy could (keyword: _could_) help him out of the ditch he was stuck in, then _by_ _all means_.

A _ping_ soon resounded into the air, followed by an “_Oh!_” in Junji’s voice.

“She replied!”

Goro hummed dismissively.

“Okay, so she’s willing to take you in but..”

He peered open an eye to stare at Junji, though only half-assed and half-lidded.

“Her next free day is on February 14th next year..” he trailed off, “You okay with waiting four months?”

Goro shrugged in response, though the visibility of his gesture wasn’t as apparent with how he laid on the floor.

“It’s fine. I mean, I’m not really going anywhere that day.”

Junji’s shadow came over his head then, right after the sound of rubber squeaking across the wooden floor came to a stop beside him. Cracking both eyes open, he looked up at Junji’s grinning face. A sigh left his lips then, though that didn’t seem to deter the other man’s excitement.

“February 14th it is then,” he began, phone clasped in his hands as his smile wavered a touch, “But still, I can’t help but be a little worried for you right now. Are you sure you’re okay with trying to go to a therapist?”

Goro would only shrug once more, eyes falling to the mirror on his other side.

“Why not, right? If you say therapy would help, it wouldn’t hurt to try it out.”

“You don’t sound like you actually want to go, though.” The frown was evident in his voice alone; Goro didn’t have to look at him _or_ his reflection through the studio mirror to know that it was there, his lips set in that too-concerned downturn. Goro’s own bottom lip was caught between his teeth, and the brunette didn’t realise as much until he opened his mouth to reply.

“It’s just.. I don’t know.” He sighed. “Talking about him just gets tiring.”

_Especially when he’s constantly running around your thoughts._

“I want to try it out, Junji— I _really_ do, but..”

“But you want to take your mind off him for now, right?”

Goro hummed in confirmation. From the corner of his eye, he could see Junji stand, his tall shadow casting over Goro. He’d really only look up when he saw the silhouette of his senior’s hand reach out to him, Junji’s gentle smile beaming at Goro like he wasn’t _just_ sulking.

Still, Goro didn’t hesitate to take that hand and let himself be pulled up to his feet. Junji was quick to release him as Goro stretched his back muscles out, still aching from sleeping there the night before. When music flowed throughout the practise room (a song Goro remembered making choreography to once, early on in his career) he looked to Junji, who smiled as brightly as ever.

“If that’s the case, let’s dance instead. You and me. Teach me how you danced to this.”

* * *

“Move your hands like this.”

“Like _this_?”

“No, like _this_.”

“You mean like this?”

Junji wiggled his arms up and down. There was a grin on his cheeks as he looked at Goro in the eye, and it was hard not to smile as he watched the man.

“Are you just messing with me at this point?” Goro huffed, but then it didn’t take too long before he started laughing at the way Junji kept wiggling his limbs. With a shake of his head, the brunette dropped his arms from the pose he held— Specifically so he could teach Junji how to dance to a nice little remix of a song he found.

But it’d been about two hours since they began already, so a break was due.

“I swear, I’m really trying my best here!”

“Yeah, of _course_ you are.” Goro rolled his eyes as he passed by the man, coming to a stop before his bag to pick up his water bottle. Junji, whose phone played their music through the loudspeakers in the practise room, would suddenly look to his pocket— and it was only made apparent to Goro that he’d received a text when the song momentarily faded into the background of a little ‘_ping_’ before resuming.

As Goro took hefty sips of his water, Junji already had his phone out— One hand scrolling through his device when the music stopped, the other wiping the sweat off his brow.

“So, about your therapy..” Junji began, and it was hard to miss how carefully he spoke. “She said that a client cancelled and she’s actually got a free slot this Saturday now, 6 PM. Do you want to take it, or..?”

There wasn’t really a second thought when Goro nodded with, “Sure.”

And after a few seconds, Junji once more looked up to him with a smile wide on his cheeks.

“You’re going to therapy on Saturday, then!”

And it really wasn’t only until Junji had said it out loud, did Goro realise what _exactly_ he’d gotten himself into.  
It was akin to whiplash how, when the information seeped into his brain, Goro could do nothing but stand frozen stiff in the midst of the practise room with Junji. He gripped his water bottle tight, his stomach felt as if it were a bottomless pit, and his heartrate had spiked up. He stared at Junji with widened eyes and pursed lips, like a cat caught messing with the canary— Except it was him realising that he was _going to therapy_.

He was going to therapy in less than a week.

Goro Akechi was going to go into a therapy session this Saturday.

He was going to meet a therapist and talk about his problems in precisely six days.

That was too soon. That was _way_ too fucking soon. That was 140 hours and Goro only felt the full weight of his situation body-slam onto him when it was vocalised that, _yes_, he was going to therapy in approximately 8,640 seconds— and counting down.

Goro gulped.

“I’m going to therapy.”

“Yeah!”

“I’m going to _therapy_.”

“_Yeah_? You’re going to be _oka_—”

Goro looked into those black eyes, his stare tense. The anxiety clouded his irises, and the way his brows furrowed and the harshness of which he chewed his lip made it apparent that it was all coming down onto him _all at once_.

And the fact that he was going to therapy was, mayhaps, the scariest thing that Goro Akechi had ever faced.

“_I’m going to therapy._”

* * *

Goro felt Ann’s hand pat his hair down, before the comb she held once more carded through the brown locks sitting atop his head. In the mirror, he looked as presentable as she could make him out to be— With heavy concealer covering up the deep purple bags pooling beneath his eyes, his hair currently being combed and fixed, and with the white shirt he wore underneath a black, blue and white sweater vest pressed and pulled to make him look less like an anxiety-ridden trainwreck with barely three hours of sleep that was running on few fumes and too many cups of coffee.

Goro felt absolutely, downright _terrible _at the moment, but at least he looked half-decent for an appointment with a therapist.

He checked his watch. Just half an hour more to go before he’d be sitting in an office somewhere in Shibuya, alone with a stranger who wanted nothing more than to hear his problems.

The thought of what lurked in his mind made him curl up into himself just a bit as he sat there, freshly showered and dressed in the studio’s staff bathroom with Ann behind him, who was running a comb through the previous mess that was his hair. A knock on the door sent his eyes darting to the left, right as a familiar, deep baritone greeted them both.

“Hey. It’s almost six, by the way. We should get going if we don’t want you to be late,” Junji said, leaning onto the frame. The man, too, had dressed out of his work clothes and into something a little more casual smart: A white turtleneck sweater with dark jeans and his signature, dark red sneakers. His hair was braided into a nice French braid at the back by Ann before she’d started fixing Goro up, and Junji looked.. _nice_.

_Very_ nice, actually. The warm smile on his cheeks was calming him down a bit, too. Though..

“What’s with the glasses?”

Goro really couldn’t ignore them. Maybe his voice came out a bit more on the curious side, maybe more on the invasive side— But as he stared at those silver and metallic, round glasses sitting on the bridge of Junji’s nose, he couldn’t help but blurt out with the question in mind.

Junji tapped on one of the lenses lightly.

“I need them now. Got them just this morning because apparently I have really shitty vision and I never realised it until I thought my cat was a shirt sitting in the living room.”

“To be fair,” Ann piped up, setting the comb back inside her purse, “Mochi _does_ look like a big white blob when you’re far away enough.”

Junji would only laugh and nod, before setting his eyes on Goro. At that point, Goro had stood from the little stool they borrowed from the break room, checking his outfit in the mirror once more. When he was satisfied, he’d simply pick up the black coat folded neatly atop his backpack, before slinging the bag onto one shoulder.  
He stood before Junji, a tired look in his eyes but a grateful smile on his lips all the same. Ann, from behind him, slung an arm around Goro’s shoulder in a half-hug.

“You have your keys, right? I’ll probably get back a little later than you so don’t wait up.” She turned to Junji. “Thanks for giving him this, Junji. We really owe you.”

Junji waved his hand in the air, almost as if dismissing the comment.

“It’s really nothing! I just want you”—his eyes went to Goro—“to be back to your old self. It helps to talk to a professional about something like what’s happening to you right now, y’know?”

“I mean, I didn’t even think of it,” Ann half-mumbled. Her voice was strained with still-there remorse, even after Goro had told her that she was forgiven time and time again already in the past six days. Silently, he lifted his hand to pat her back.

“Which is why I’m so grateful that you even told him about therapy.”

“Therapy is something _everyone_ should know about!” Junji huffed a bit, before the buzzing of his phone had him silencing the alarm and looking back to Goro. “But we can talk about that when we’re not going to be running late for your session. We should head out.”

The brunette would only silently nod, hand dropping from where he patted Ann’s back.  
Ann would engulf Goro into a full hug before he departed from the studio with Junji, who’d promised he would walk with Goro to and from the office. Though he’d be there, Junji wasn’t actually allowed inside the office when Goro’s session began, but he _would_ wait in the waiting room for the entire hour Goro would be talking to his therapist.

But the moment Goro stepped foot outside of the studio, the beat in his chest sped up threefold. His senses felt heightened, and each step he took to the bus stop felt heavy and forced. The cold, mid-November air didn’t do much to help his lungs feel less constricted either, and though he’d wrapped the black coat smelling of vanilla and peppermint around himself with the buttons done all the way up, he still felt as if his blood was frozen in his veins.

It could’ve been the changing climate, but Goro knew all too well that this was anxiety spiked from having to face something new and unfamiliar— from having to (eventually) get his emotions out and face his trauma.  
He did some research on the days leading up to his therapy session. He wasn’t just going to go in there and vent out to a therapist for an hour then leave; it wasn’t that straightforward. The woman Junji was recommending him to would ask him questions meant to get to the root of his traumas disguised as simple “_How does this makes you feel_” or “_Why do you think this happened_” inquiries.

And Goro wanted that. He actually wanted (nay, _needed_?) to know what was causing him to be the way he was. The problem really only laid in how he would be _dealing with_ those causes. Goro wasn’t quite sure if he was really ready to bare his wounds and his past to someone he never knew.

But then again, wasn’t that better: To show the weak side of yourself to someone you had no attachment to? Someone who only knew the smallest hints of yourself, not someone who felt biased towards you because you had some sort of bond?

It was.. certainly food for thought for Goro— Something he’d become so engrossed in that all it took for him to realise that they’d sat through a bus ride and walked through the streets was to blink before he found himself peering at the entrance of a redbrick building.  
There was a simple, black door in front of them both, and on the wall beside it was a plate with the words “_Tokyo Psychiatry_” engraved onto the surface of the metal. Junji took the first few steps up the short flight of stairs before he made to press a buzzer beside the plate. In just a few seconds, the buzzer sounded back at them and Junji had nodded back at Goro as he pushed the door open.

They walked through the halls together, up two flights of staircases, and down another corridor. Each door that they’d passed in that particular hallway, as he noted, bore small plates with various names and titles engraved onto them— but Goro would simply keep his gaze ahead as he mentally steeled himself for what was to come, silent save for his footfalls on the clean wooden floors. As Junji slowed to a stop in front of a door with the plate reading “_Miyuki Tachibana, Psychotherapist_” he felt his grip tighten on the coat he’d folded up onto his arm.

“Well, we’re here.” Another glance at his wristwatch, before a smile crept up Junji’s cheeks. “And you’ve got ten minutes to spare.”

Goro blew into his hands then, rubbing his palms together. Though the inside of the building had fended them off from the chill winds of mid-November easily, Goro was doing it more out of a _need_ to do something with his hands than anything, lest he’d probably end up picking the button off of his coat in sheer _nervousness_.

“Just one hour, right?” he asked, fingers laced together, “I just have to let her talk to me for an hour?”

“Hey, we’ve talked about this.” Junji placed his hand on Goro’s shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. “You have to let her in and trust her for this to work.”

“I _know_, but..” Goro rubbed his palms together again, somehow just a bit faster and more aggressive than before. “It’s nerve-wracking actually being here. It seemed like such an easy choice to make last Sunday and _now_..”

Junji sighed, though Goro got the feeling it was less because of _him_, specifically, and more at the state of his thoughts. He was being fidgety and anxious, and that was probably just a _bit_ agitating for anyone who saw him as he fumbled with his hands and bit his lip too hard and darted his eyes around the off-white walls of the hallway.

Even still, the hand on his shoulder felt comforting.

“I get it, okay? It’s a little scary doing this, but you have to trust me when I say that she’ll be able to help you sort through how you feel about everything. You’re free to walk out that door anytime you need or want to, and if you feel like therapy isn’t for you, then I’ll take you home and you don’t have to go for another session, okay?”

The door beside him creaked open then, and Goro would watch as a small, younger woman (about Futaba’s height) quietly stepped out of the office and made her way down the hall they came from. In the few seconds he’d seen her, it was hard to miss the tranquillity of her eyes— hard to miss the peaceful smile on her lips.

Goro wondered if _he_ would end up being like that.

“But for now, you have to give this a chance.”

He checked his wristwatch. It read _5:58_.  
Goro looked up at Junji then, before settling his gaze on the closed door just two paces away from him. Through his nose, he inhaled deeply— and as he did so, felt Junji slide his hand from his shoulder, to splay flat against his back. He walked Goro to that spot before the door, and it was Junji who knocked on it thrice before pushing the entrance open for him.

“You’ve got this, Goro.”

Goro could only nod and gulp out an “_alright_.”

And so, with a heavy heart and with a buzzing mind, he took those first few steps into the office. Soon as he was inside, Goro heard the door behind him click closed, and just one look at the room gave him the sense of.. of _calm_.  
The walls were a gentle shade of beige, the warm glow of lights from multiple tall lamps reminding Goro of what coffee with too much milk looked like. To his right, beside a wall of windows with the blinds drawn down, was a little countertop with a sink and an electric kettle beside a mini-fridge, two chairs facing each other with a low coffee table that had a box of tissues between them on the opposite corner before it. On the wall in front of him were two, low bookshelves flanking a rather large painting of a bouquet. The furniture spread around the room (from the plush of the chairs to the lampshades) was mostly white, with the exception of a polished and brown desk to his left, and a black office chair situated behind it— On which, sat a middle-aged woman with chin-length hair and a nice smile.

Goro noted the crow’s feet littering the corners of the woman’s eyes, the sag of wrinkles on her cheeks and forehead. On her desk before her sat a blank notepad and a pen, and she was wearing clothes that looked _much_ too comfortable to be work clothes— that is, a size-too-big, lilac sweater and a flowy, white skirt that reached her knees.

“Hello,” she began, “You must be Goro Akechi, yes? I’m Miyuki Tachibana.”

The woman (his therapist, Tachibana) stood and bowed her head at him. Goro returned the action almost immediately in his half-dazed state, maybe bowing a _bit_ too deeply. When he looked back up at her, Tachibana was smiling at him as she sat back in her chair.

“_Please_, have a seat, Akechi.”

Tachibana gestured to the two chairs settled before her desk, and Goro made to stoically pad over and seat himself on the chair at the left, his backpack at his feet and the black coat on his lap. His posture was tense and too stiff as he sat there, eyes glancing all around the office. It wasn’t because he thought Tachibana herself was intimidating, it was the because of the _experience_ that he was about to undergo.

Though the room evoked a sense of peacefulness, Goro remained uneasy— and, it seemed, Tachibana knew how to deal with that. Must’ve sensed his reluctance as early as when he’d stepped into the room, even.

“I understand this is your first time coming to something like this,” the woman began, her voice so naturally gentle and light, that Goro thought it must’ve been how she regularly spoke, “And I want you to know that you always have the choice of continuing our session or not. You can always leave if you feel like this isn’t right for you, and I won’t force you to stay.”

_Same words as Junji_, he thought to himself then— and Goro would be lying if he said that Tachibana hadn’t calmed him down by just a _bit_ if not by her voice alone, then by how she’d emphasised that he had _control_ over the session, more or less.

Actually, knowing that he had control soothed his mind more than he’d expected it to, like feeling the comforting chill of a balm over long-ignored burns.

Goro watched as Tachibana picked up the notepad and the pen, the _click_ of the latter resounding in the quiet room. Not being on the main streets kept the area around the office less noisy, and for a second, Goro let his mind wander on how nice and peaceful it all was.

“We’ll start whenever you’re ready, Akechi.”

Tachibana was looking at him with her pen at the ready, though her eyes not at all gave him the impression that she was rushing him, or pressuring him into spilling all of his problems onto her; Instead, she looked like she was simply _waiting_, simple smile on her lips and all. She looked at him with a gaze that told him to _take his time_, and that was a comfort in and of itself— The past few weeks had mostly consisted of him hurrying up and getting his emotions in check for the sake of his students.

It took a few minutes, but when Goro had taken in a few deep breaths and had let himself lean back against the comfortable plush of the chair, he’d closed his eyes and joined his hands together. He had to force himself to stop chewing on his lip once he’d gathered the words and the events in his head, ready not just for their session to begin, but to once more recount the tales of the past eight months— the story of him, and Akira Kurusu.

“I’m ready.”

“Thank you for trusting me this much, Akechi. Now, what brought you to me?”

* * *

Therapy was surprisingly pleasant— Emotionally exhausting _yes_, but pleasant. This was what Goro thought as he sat with crossed legs on the chair beside the windows, a cup of coffee (lukewarm after he’d ignored it for so long) set before him on the low table. 

Tachibana sat on the opposite chair in front of him, her notepad and pen in her hands as she nodded and hummed sympathetically along to each point that Goro had made along the events regarding Akira. She sometimes wrote, sometimes seemed to scribble, but Goro would never get a peek of what she’d jotted down onto the paper.

But he wasn’t really thinking about that as he looked down at his hands, lips in a line and fingers fumbling with each other. The box of tissues had been pushed towards him just half an hour ago, but Goro was much too stubborn to really reach out for them just _yet_. He could still blink away the tears and rub his eyes on his sleeve when needed.

“And I just.. Never had any idea what I actually _was_ to him. He’d never make it clear and it was confusing. I like_—_" Goro caught himself there, coughing and sucking in a breath before he continued. “—_used_ to like him a lot, but..”

“But because this person has been so vague and cryptic with how he feels in return, it’s becoming frustrating for you?” Tachibana supplied, her voice gentle as it’d always been the past forty minutes. Goro could only nod, lips tightening just a bit before he let them drop back down to the frown they’d settled on since speaking the first sentence of the story.

“Do you think that maybe that frustration is from believing he felt the same towards you?”

There wasn’t even really a need to think about it: A shake of the head was his kneejerk reaction to the question. He _would’ve_ followed through with it along with a list of reasons why that wasn’t the case— But the more Goro thought about it, the more it made sense.  
The more Goro thought through the instances, the more the pieces fell into place; The more his mind processed the memories, the more the cogs in his head turned; The more he picked apart the nuances and gradually came to a conclusion.

Maybe he wasn’t mad (entirely) because of the kiss. Maybe he wasn’t mad because Akira would pop back into his life whenever Goro was on the cusp of at least detaching himself inch by painful inch. Maybe it was because the part of Goro that could once deduce and solve logical problems like it was second nature to him just _knew_ in himself that everything (all of their days together, their interactions, the words and the small moments) was because Akira reciprocated his feelings.

Maybe Tachibana was right.

Slowly, he nodded. The therapist before him finished scribbling something down once more, and Goro could only lean back into the comforting, white plush of his chair after realising he’d put a hand to his chin and had stared down at the rug whilst he lost himself in his thoughts.

“I remember one time I was with him, he made me really good coffee for the first time..” Goro muttered, eyes trained on the tissue box as to avoid looking into the cold, instant coffee Tachibana had whipped up for him almost an hour prior. “Up to that point, I knew him as this really flirty guy with bad one-liners and all, so I made a joke about him having no cheesy pick-up line to use that time.”

Tachibana would nod, simply watching him as Goro recounted that day— A _Friday_, if he remembered correctly, spent under the warm glow of lights in Leblanc with a book about a thief on the table and with Akira’s hands on his face.

“He said it with such a straight face that I thought he might’ve just been messing with me, but it’s been hard not to think of when he said “_I made it with all my love for you_.” Like he was serious about it. Now that you mention it.. I think I _did_ believe he felt the same towards me, but he never really said anything until we _fought_ and now..”

Goro would shrug at the end, shoulders slumping forwards dejectedly.

“Now, he’s.. not someone I want to see, but he’s still someone I miss so fucking _much_.”

“It must be hard feeling that way, Akechi,” Tachibana would begin, pen pressed against her notepad— not writing, but also not like she wasn’t ready to, “And I can only imagine the pain that you’re going through right now. It’s completely normal to feel the way you do, but..”

And right then, at that exact moment, Goro could just _feel_ the woman weighing her words. Tachibana was looking down at her notepad, and it was hard to miss how she’d seem to focus on a single word jotted down beside her pen. Her face remained unreadable save for sympathetic, but the brunette could see the hesitance in her slightly-parted lips.

“About this person you’ve been talking about.. Do you think that, _maybe_, you’ve been depending on him for quite a bit in regards to your emotional well-being?”

That’s when it hit him.  
The pieces fell into place. The signs in his head lit up. Every thought and touch just _clicked_. Even Junji’s own words to him from a week before flashed into his mind, the little diagnosis he made to Goro about—

“_Co-dependency_..” he muttered, and it was more to himself than anything.

“Exactly.”

Goro heard the shuffle of fabric on plush, looking up from the tight weave of his fingers at just the right time to see Tachibana sit forwards just a bit on her seat. She was leaning towards him, her expression just a tad sadder, more empathetic, even. By the therapist’s side rested her notepad, and in her hand, her pen.

The woman’s eyes, though? They were settled on Goro, who’d slumped back against his chair and practically sank into the cushions. His thoughts ran a mile a minute, and maybe the reason he’d lost feeling on his bottom lip was because of how hard he chewed and bit down on it.

“Subconsciously, victims of past abuse who’ve never undergone proper treatment would still look for someone to depend on, to fill in the gap their abuser left. Abusive relationships are built on co-dependency, and the effects of so stay with the victim for _years_.”

Goro drew in a sharp breath, eyes squeezing shut. The image of Asahi’s face came to his mind, though he willed it away as much as he could— Though when _that_ passed, Akira’s visage was there to replace it; The smirk on his lips the last time they saw one another, the shine of his dark eyes reflecting the dusk’s gentle rays of light, the melancholy that quieted his voice and left no room for his usual bravado to settle in before Goro left him there.  
And Goro didn’t know which was more painful to look at. The face of his past abuser, or the face of his.. Goro didn’t even know anymore.

He just knew that he didn’t like thinking of either of them.

“I’ve.. I’ve been in two relationships like that before,” Goro would mumble, tasting iron on his tongue again, “But _him_.. Akira.. He’s never hurt me like _they_ have.”

He shook his head slowly.

“He’s never hit me, or forced me into something I didn’t want to do.”

“I’m not suggesting that, Akechi. You seemed to make that connection yourself.”

His lips pursed into a tight line, brows coming together. Silence lingered between them for a few seconds, and Goro would only look up once Tachibana had called out to him in her soft and gentle tone.

“It’s still possible that he _may_ have manipulated your emotions, willingly or not,” she began, notepad once more in hand, “But this is why you came here, yes? I’m here to help you find ways to cope with your problems, sort through your emotions. Most importantly I think, undo the effects of your past two relationships.”

Tachibana would smile at him then, a gentle smile pulled up from the corners of her lips.

“If you’ll allow me to, I’d like to help you.”

And at that, Goro could only nod. His voice was lost to him, if not because of how ready his therapist seemed to be at his aid, then still by the revelation that shook him.

The part that Tachibana had mentioned about emotional manipulation.. It stuck with Goro, for reasons he could list off at the top of his head.  
It shook his mind, hit him harder than he initially thought it did. That day when his lips were kissed for what might’ve been the first time in years before feeling the sharp prick of teeth on skin: It was what came to the forefront of his memories almost at an instant— and it was even harder to block out Akira’s voice, saying that it was all essentially just a _game_ to him.

Though Goro knew it wasn’t true (experience has given him tried and true methods to spot which people were genuinely after his body or otherwise) it still stung. Quite a _bit_. Especially coming from the man he’d grown so fucking _fond_ of and started falling for, for.. who knew _how_ long.

Tachibana’s voice anchored him back to Earth, out of his thoughts.

“Akechi?”

“I’d like that, Tachibana.” Goro nodded a bit again, though would soon bow his head. “I’d like it very much if you would help me with.. with _all of **this**_.”

And it was only a few seconds before he felt a hand rest atop his hair.

“We’re going to build you back up step by step, okay Akechi? You won’t be alone in this.”

For once, Goro believed those words. 

* * *

_Journal Entry no. 01_  
_12 November 20XX_  
_22:06_

_Tachibana instructed me to keep a journal entry of each day starting from now on. She told me to write down the events of today, how I feel, and even things that come to mind. My thoughts. All of that. It’s part of the therapy and my recovery, so if I must then I will._

_Well, today I went through my first therapy session and met Miyuki Tachibana, my therapist. We talked about what happened regarding Akira, and she gave me some insight about <strike>our</strike> my situation._

_ <strike>I’m angry at h</strike> _

_ <strike>I feel a bit of sadne</strike> _

_ <strike>I still miss him.</strike> _

_I have mixed feelings about it._

_That’s all. _

* * *

_Journal Entry no. 06_  
_17 November 20XX_  
_20:00_

_Ann and I went to Ogikubo for ramen earlier, just the two of us. I’ve been telling her about my first session with Tachibana and she seems interested on making Shiho try therapy, too. Maybe in regards to her past at Shujin._

_But my progress with taking Tachibana’s advice and journalising my days have done.. **something**. I feel better, but honestly life is all still a big (and excuse the language) **shit storm**_ _right now. Sleep has come easier than before, but I still find myself staying back at the studio after classes. Junji insists on staying with me though, so maybe I should spend less nights there._

_<strike>I’ve heard Akira’s still uploading to his YouTube, though. It’s tempting to listen to his old compositions to help myself fall asleep easier. I shouldn’t. I need to stay away from him for now. Stop thinking about him and writing about him. It’s a waste of ink and paper. </strike> _

* * *

_Journal Entry no. 08_  
_19 November 20XX_  
_20:29_

_Today, I had another therapy session with Tachibana. I elaborated more on what happened between Asahi and my past relationships this time and we talked about how I could start doing little things to cope with the events in a healthier way._

_What’s interesting to me is how she pointed out certain behaviours. Behaviours I find myself linking back to **him**. Maybe I should tell her about this in my next appointment, but for now I have to go to the studio._

_Don’t worry. I’m starting to spend less late nights there. I just have a project I’m working on and Tachibana is encouraging my use of dance as an outlet for my emotions. Junji is still monitoring the hours I spend there, but I think he may be starting to trust that I can control myself now, more or less. _

* * *

_Journal Entry no. 15_  
26 November 20XX  
23:56

_It’s been hours since I’ve sat down to write this entry. I don’t know how many pages I’ve torn off and thrown aside but it’s.._

_It made too much sense. What she told me today. There was a connection there and Tachibana was only there to help me see it._

_How could I have been so stupid? _

* * *

_Journal Entry no. 16_  
_27 November 20XX_  
_03:19_

_Sleep is hard to come by right now, so I decided to sit down and write a bit more._

_All this time, I’ve been made a fool of again. Maybe not even intentionally so. That’s probably the worst part of it all._

_The kiss still irks me but what makes me angry is how he looked at me then. How he spoke. **What** he said stung but the lie.. The **lies**, more like.  
Those were the worst of it._

_I have no definitive proof of manipulation. Maybe there is. Maybe I’m being stupid again and ignoring them. I don’t know._

_I just_

_Why did he do that? Why did he have to twist things? Why the specific wording? Was it just to bait me into trailing after him?_

_Fuck Akira _

* * *

_Journal Entry no. 22_  
_03 December 20XX_  
_21:04_

_I’ve come home a bit later today, and not because Ann and I celebrated almost a month of healing with therapy, but because I stopped by the bouldering gym again. Our celebration is after my next session with Tachibana, but I digress._

_The coping mechanisms she’s given me have been life-changing to say the least. I can at least have a cup of coffee without thinking of him now, aside from a few other things.  
One of the ways I’ve been coping is with dance, of course. It’s always been just the thing to help me out of my worst dips but right now.. Applying what I’ve learned about myself and how I approach these things.. It’s been **therapeutic**._

_Inarticulate way of putting it, yes, but it’s the most appropriate word to use. The project I’ve been working on is going splendidly but I’d still like to attend a few classes in contemporary to expand what I can do._

_Learn new things, Tachibana said. I rediscovered bouldering and am in the process of learning contemporary. Both have been fun and I think I might take Ann and Shiho to the bouldering gym sometime, maybe extend the invitation to Junji, too._

_He’s been a big help to me in simply introducing me to Tachibana. To say it’s the least I can do for him is an understatement in and of itself. _

* * *

_Journal Entry no. 36_  
_17 December 20XX_  
_21:12_

_I’m exhausted but I’ll sit down for a few minutes to write tonight as well._

_Therapy has been helping me in more ways than I can count. I’ve been feeling lighter ever. Situations that seemed impossible before are now **manageable**. My heart has had the chance to heal, in the words of Junji Nakamura himself. Honestly, I can’t quite say it’s inaccurate._

_For once, I feel like I have control on my life. On how I think. It’s liberating in the way that I’ve never experienced before and though there are still bumps in the road, the feeling of being unable to cross those paths comes less and less. I feel like I’m able to really enjoy my life now, no holds barred._

_But if I’m honest with myself, I’ve been thinking. Specifically, about him._

_ <strike>It was a bad situa</strike> _

_ <strike>Things weren’t in the best of</strike> _

_ <strike>Maybe he wasn’t at fault</strike> _

_Akira.  
He’s been a hard topic to really speak of in the midst of my recovery from everything that’s happened in my life, but if I’m going to be honest with myself here in my own private, little world, I miss him._

_And maybe it’s not even **him**, specifically. It might’ve been the times we’ve had. The things I felt being with him. But that’s what I would’ve written a month ago. The things the Goro who subconsciously longed for someone to depend on would say._

_I miss Akira, for the Akira that might’ve been the real one that I spent time with. The man who smiled and made jokes. The Akira that made the best breakfasts and who sometimes sang until he fell asleep. Akira who’d have my favourite cup of coffee ready and Akira who’d say the stupidest things at times._

_Things were bad between us all those months ago (unhealthy, as I learned) but I have to admit that I still enjoyed being with him, as his “friend” or someone who was more than that but less than an established partner._

_I could admit that Ann was right in that we needed to talk, but not when I thought the way I did. Not when I would’ve taken him back in a heartbeat without a second thought to forgiving him for the things he’d done. That being the kiss and the lying, mostly._

_What happened in Odaiba.. I couldn’t say I didn’t want it not to happen but it was a complicated situation. I was drunk to the moon and Akira probably was, too. Maybe it was neither our fault or we were both to blame for what happened, but Akira’s lie during that time at the park.._

_We need to talk about it sooner or later, but I’m not so sure this is the best time._

_I just miss him. _

* * *

_Journal Entry no. 43_  
_24 December 20XX_  
_18:00_

_Though today’s the day before Christmas, I still went to a therapy session with Tachibana. Because of the holidays, many of her clients postponed their meetings and I got bumped up her schedule to this morning before my classes._

_I don’t mind though since it’s given me perfect time to see Ann and Shiho off. Right now, they should be in Yamaguchi to spend the holidays with Ann’s parents. Until the second week of January, I have the apartment all to myself and honestly? The quiet is nice. I love them both but it’s about time they spend their holidays together as a couple anyway._

_Tachibana gave me a sort of progress report today. She compared myself at our first session together and the latest. She says I’ve changed, that she was proud of how I’ve come to be how I am now and I can’t help but agree. There were definitely challenges along the way (see, the infamous sheets of paper thrown away containing rants about missing a certain someone) but I’ve come this far! It’s an achievement I’m proud of, myself._

_It was a breezy session all in all. Just a bit of talking, a bit of telling her how I’ve been and how everything is going. I’ve shown her the video, too, and it’s Tachibana-approved!_

_Now if you’ll excuse me, I have blueberry pancakes, a hot cup of coffee, a Ghibli movie marathon, and the couch with my name on it. This is going to be a lazy Goro night and I’m enjoying the peace and quiet while I can. _

* * *

_Journal Entry no. 50_  
_31 December 20XX_  
_23:02_

_Two months come and pass quickly, don’t they? It’s already New Year’s Eve as I’m writing this. My latest therapy session with Tachibana had happened a bit earlier today (again, due to the holidays) but I’m still glad we had a final meeting before the new year. Tachibana says I have the choice of continuing with therapy if I want to when the holidays are finished, and though I’ve been mostly okay, I feel like I still need to._

_It’s a hunch, but you never really know. I still haven’t exactly opened up to her about my biological family and maybe we could work on that next.._

_But really. I’m honestly quite amazed at what two months has done for me with this entire thing, regarding Akira and my past relationships. Junji wasn’t wrong when he said she was good at what she does, and when he said I needed therapy. I owe him a lot._

_Ah, what to write next? There’s not really much to say today. Most of my co-workers are in the province for the holidays and I don’t have much except movies to fill the rest of my days until January._

_Well, that’s not exactly true._

_It’s been.. Damn, three months already? **Three months**._

_Honestly, it’s nerve-wracking. Half of me is scared at doing this but it’s what needs to be done. Besides, I need to take the chance, don’t I?_

_I’ll do it._

_I’m ready to face him. _

* * *

The cold air of late December crept into his bedroom, though Goro had already closed his windows long before sitting at his desk with a pen and a hardcover journal. In front of him, the words he’d only just finished writing stared back up at the dancer, and for once, he wasn’t glaring down at them. Goro hadn’t given his own journal the stink eye in a while.

Closing it once more, he set the pen down beside the journal and joined his hands together, joints cracking and popping after he’d remained in a single position for the entire duration of his journalising. His back straightened then curved as he stretched upwards, a content sigh leaving his lips easily before Goro slumped forward onto the surface of his desk again, elbows propped up and cheeks in his hands. Sleepy and half-lidded red eyes gave the brown cover another once-over, and it wasn’t too long before he’d set the notebook aside in place for his laptop, which lay waiting in sleep mode.

Booting it back up, Goro was quick to navigate the single, opened tab on the web browser. Because the video had been edited and pretty much ready for upload just two weeks before, the spark of excitement that lit up from within his core grew at a quick pace as Goro watched the upload bar fill up steadily, lips pulling up into a wide smile across his cheeks as the page reloaded and displayed the new upload— the first of a newly-created channel under his name.

_“So hold on if you want. I don't wanna play this, no I don't have the patience—"_

And what showed first and foremost was Goro Akechi, laying on the floor with his limbs spread before he rose to sit with each beat of the [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KglfXjDvUys) and along with the lyrics. He’d had his (freshly-cut) hair tied back into an inch-long ponytail at the back of his head, his clothes baggy and all white with pale red accents running down the sides.

_“And last year was a long one. And these days are reruns. A fine time for a breakdown, yes let's find words to tear these walls down and I threw them all away.”_

With each sentence sung, he’d risen to his knees slowly, until Goro was on his feet and he looked straight to the camera with a tired expression painted on his features.

_“If I start then I probably won't stop 'cause the world moves on and the lights stay on— For the next one, and next one, it's an ocean. No, I don't wanna waste forever—"_

Goro moved his hands at first, controlled though graceful with each popping movement each joint up his arms performed. His steps across the floor were light, almost as if he floated as he moved from spot to spot. As he danced, the ever-tired look in his eyes never faded even as his lips moved to silently sing along to the music.

_“But I can if I want to, there's so much that can change my mind. So much of me has changed, how could I ever feel the same?”_

Goro watched himself perform in the video, go from standing to crouched on the floor; from moving a _current_ along up his body as he stood upright once more before coming to a sharp stop just before the beat dropped. As the song continued from start to finish, the Goro in-video never once looked anything other than exhausted whenever he hadn’t had his eyes closed— and it was maybe because Goro at the time didn’t have to fake the tiredness apparent in his gaze.  
He could remember the nights spent perfecting the choreography; The time spent perfecting his own movements. He could remember having one face in mind as he danced, and he remembered imagining that he looked straight into shining, black eyes whenever he stared at the black of the camera lens.

It wasn’t a video _for_ him, per se— More along the lines of a video meant to mark the end of a chapter in Goro Akechi’s life.

_“The lone and level sands stretch far away.”_

From far away, the sound of fireworks reached Goro’s ears. He’d close his laptop, only stand and pad out of his room and make his way onto the balcony.  
As he stood there, arms on the rails and head up to the dark sky splashed with vibrant lights and ringing with the sound of fireworks being launched, all he could do was bite his lip, click on the power button of his phone and (almost as if on auto-pilot) scroll down his chat logs to a contact he hadn’t once sent a message to in three months. Aside from the pounding of his heartbeat in his head, all he heard was the distant countdown of crowds gathered as midnight neared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ,,,,  
HEY SUP IM BACK SKSKSKSKSKK
> 
> okay but fr y'all, i'm really sorry i just up and poofed for over a month without warning over here  
tl;dr of it is i got roped into a dance competition a day after the last upload and training started immediately and i got w a y too busy/tired to write a lot. competition ended just this tuesday actually so since then i been writing as much as i can to get this out skskksk
> 
> this  
11k-word  
monster of a chapter out
> 
> hope y'all enjoyed it tho sksksksk again, i'm really sorry this took so long  
B side coming soon
> 
> listen list !!  
joji - demons  
joji - yeah right  
joji - test drive  
joji - will he  
ruth b - lost boy  
eden - 909


	23. Track 21 (B side)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> —stretches far away.

Nights in Tokyo are usually never quiet. The city seemed to have life constantly buzz around even the most tucked-away nooks, crannies, crevices, and corners that lasted through to early morning, the sound of cars and laughter and chatter afloat in the air without end— but as a figure stalked down a wide (yet abandoned) street of Shinjuku’s red light district, naught but the sound of utter silence hung in the atmosphere.  
An atmosphere that, above all else, was both peaceful and suffocating both in the same breath. Maybe it was the storm that did it. Akira, with his head facing the ground as heavy rain beat down onto his back, certainly would have thought so.

The walk from Shibuya to Shinjuku was a tiring one— a tiredness that only got worse with each step down the paths he took with his clothes weighed by the rain and with his muscles still feeling strained (like a rubber band pulled taut, to just the edges of its snapping point) from yet another mission he carried through, this one happening in the outskirts of Tokyo. The fact that Morgana had somehow acquired an unlicensed van was a blessing in and of itself, but Akira couldn’t be dropped off too close to home without the risk it carried, and so walking through the streets in the middle of the night was his only option.

Though Akira’d finished the job with only bruises and scratches here and there, it felt as if he’d been shot through the heart itself as he slouched forward, hands in his pockets and heavy bags under his eyes as he rounded corners and ventured deeper into sketchy shortcuts at what must’ve been no earlier than three in the morning. From underneath his beanie, he was sure already that his hair was a mess of runny hairspray and splotchy patches of black and sandy blonde— but in the moment, all he really cared about was getting home and letting sleep overcome him for at least twelve hours, lest the fatigue and the deafening silence of that particular night in Tokyo would drive him mad, and Akira couldn’t quite say he needed that on top of everything.

To a man running on fumes and the last dregs of adrenaline, it felt as if an entire eternity had passed before he found himself at his street, peering down the path that led to his apartment. The building was visible even through the rain and the distance, and the time between _being near_ and _being at his doorstep_ was something that Akira couldn’t recall in his stupor. All he knew was that his boots felt gross and his socks squelched when he took them off, and that his coat was too heavy and dripped too much water onto the entrance. Additionally, the feeling of being cold (_freezing,_ actually) came seconds after Akira’d shut the door to the bathroom, simply giving Futaba a small wave and a look that hopefully communicated how he needed to have a hot shower first when he passed by her sitting on the couch as usual, himself leaving a trail of small puddles on the floor he crossed.

When Akira stripped down, his eyes seemed to find the visage of his arm in the mirror by their own volition. Because there, around the pale skin of his bicep, was a darker patch stretching across the front of his arm where the bullet wound he’d received weeks ago had healed and settled into a scar. It looked like what fabric torn in the middle would, aggravated only by pulling and stretching until the hole opened even more. Though Akira was stubborn and insisted to keep working even despite how his arm needed to heal, he was glad Takemi’s drugs and treatment did wonders mainstream medicine could never achieve in such a short amount of time.  
It was something akin to magic, how the doctor’s medicines worked— so quickly and effectively, too. If it wasn’t for her (and the times he volunteered to be the guinea pig of her experiments) they probably would have never gotten this entire _breaking into buildings with armed personnel walking around_ thing off the ground.

And ah, Akira has to see her sometime soon. Aside from a general check-up Takemi wants to do on him, he might need to see her about the headaches he’s been getting again lately. They were a pain (both literally and figuratively) in two out of the three sides of his life, and fuck if Akira was going to die because he suddenly got a dizzy spell in the midst of grappling from building to building.

But at least, the hot shower eased him a bit. Stepping out of the shower, his skin felt warm and his muscles just a bit less tense. His head felt light (if only because of the wave of the sleepiness that slowly crept up on him) and though Akira wanted nothing more than to sleep until the afternoon sun peeked through his windows, he’d wrapped a towel around himself and stepped out of the bathroom, rubbing a smaller one against his hair— once more, black and relaxing into their usual curls.

Futaba eyed him as he neared her, a sympathetic smile pinning up her cheeks as her fingers paused their ceaseless dance across the keyboard. From behind her glasses, Akira saw eyes looking as exhausted as he felt, and would only reach a hand over to pet her head as he came to a stop behind the couch. On the screen of her laptop sat a multitude of windows opened, some with files and folders, others with paused videos or images pulled up. Most of them, he recognised as files they’d recovered from missions past.

“Good job today,” Futaba hummed, her voice just a bit raspy, “Morgana dropped by with the files and the hard drive but he didn’t stay. He said we should limit heists to once per month, too, since we’ve been on the move too much lately.”

Wasn’t Morgana farther away than _he_ was to home? His methods were mysterious, and more than once, Akira had to simply accept that it was either teleportation or Morgana was some sort of magician. He decided not to think too much into it.

Her gaze peered up at him, a small frown set on her lips. The concern in her voice was hard to miss as she said, “You’ve been working too much, y’know.”

But Akira would only shake his head, would simply focus his gaze on the black lump of fur named Mona curled beside Futaba on the cushions. If he let her stare pierce into his own now, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to hide away just how _tired_ he was, of all this— of the heists, of the missions. Not exactly of _being Arsene_ but of being so eager to go on hours-long break-ins because if he wasn’t preoccupied with _something_, he was..

Again, Akira shook his head.

“I can handle it. We need to get this done as soon as possible, right?” he tried to sound hopeful, though it fell flat by the missing energy evident in his tone of voice.

“We _do_,” Futaba sighed, “But I don’t want you to die of exhaustion. Besides, like Morgana said, we’ve been going on too many missions too quickly— Shido could already know that there are people poking into the shit he’s doing behind the scenes, so..”

Futaba’s hands slipped underneath her glasses, palms at her eyes.

“So what happens if you’re caught, huh?”

There was a quiver in her voice, a slight shake in her shoulders. Akira felt a stab of guilt cut through his chest as he (belatedly) realised his sister was crying. Lightly, he’d pull her into a hug from behind, arms wrapping around her much-smaller torso.

“I’m sorry,” he began, one hand rubbing her arm a bit, voice just shy of a plead, “But I won’t get caught, alright? I’m strong enough— and besides, you’ll be there to warn me about what’s going to come, won’t you? You’ll get me out of there before anyone even knows I was snooping around.”

And Futaba was quiet for a bit after that, until she finally shook her head and looked at him. Her eyes (usually so full of life and wonder) held a fear that Akira wasn’t used to seeing on her, being the headstrong person that she was. Additionally, they were puffy and red, and tears cascaded down her cheeks freely without the obstruction of her hands to prevent it.

“I’m scared of losing _you_, too..” she mumbled, the shakiness in her voice accompanied by another shake of her head, “So we _have_ to be careful about this. We’re in too deep now so we can’t just back out— but I don’t want either of you dying because of it, Akira.”

And Akira would simply gulp (almost guiltily), head bobbing once in a single nod. The weight of her words was something he knew the root cause of, the fear in her voice something he knew haunted Futaba in her dreams at times. Though the topic of her mother was something she’d already made peace with, there wasn’t anyone in the world who wouldn’t have the trauma she carried even after the years that’d passed— and so Akira felt the obligation in himself to (at least) remain in one piece through the missions and heists he’d have to see to the end. If it wasn’t for the potential state of Japan, then it was for his little sister.

“Once a month then,” he mumbled, giving Futaba a final squeeze before he’d withdrawn, “We’ll schedule things with Morgana. Why don’t you get some rest for tonight?”

“I’m not even tired—”

“Futaba, you’ve been working on this since yesterday afternoon. You need to sleep.”

Silence. A sigh. Futaba closed the lid of her laptop before hopping off the couch— or more like, tiredly scooting off the couch to her socked feet and yawning. _Deeply_. Hell, when did she even _sleep _anymore?

“Yeah, go to your room and rest up, squirt,” he chuckled. Tried to. “Goodnight.”

In response, Akira heard a quiet, vague “_g’night_..” as Futaba trudged to her room. Even after _one_ cry, she was out like a light, still— and it brought a bit of hope in Akira’s heart, that even after everything that’d become in the years that they participated in the less-legal (wholly-illegal) activities their worlds had become, she was still Futaba. Still easily-exhausted, high-on-energy-drinks Futaba. Still the redheaded, five-foot-two computer nerd who harboured a genius Akira had yet to see in anyone else. She was still the little sister he’d grown fond of. If he _really_ wasn’t doing this for the safety of Japan, then he may as well have been doing it for Futaba and Sojiro.

_Family_.

Yeah, that sounded.. really nice, actually. He was doing all of this for them. That, at least, provided him with a warmth in his heart that he hadn’t felt for a while now.

The next day would be (though technically, it already _was_) Thursday, he realised then, after he’d settled into bed. It would be his day off from Leblanc. Maybe he could hit up Sojiro and ask if he could help out around shop?

Where did he leave his phone again? On his nightstand, right. He could send that text now and—

With his hand halfway extended, Akira froze.

The fuzziness in his chest dissipated, maybe _too_ quickly. Once his eyes happened upon the little notebook where his phone sat upon, Akira’s lips pulled down into a frown, and he had to wonder why he didn’t think to hide that thing away after angrily half-dumping, half-throwing it there two days ago.

Ever since the talk he’d had with Goro at Inokashira, Akira had sunk back into making music. His mind seemed to drown in a multitude of thoughts more than once per day, and it was hard not to associate certain words with a certain person with brown hair and red eyes. Music was his only solitude. Music helped him through the darkest of times before. Writing music helped take some of the pain off— and so, Akira began writing.

In a little, white, leather-bound notebook he’d bought (where he’d purchased many more before it in the past,) sat pages filled with words. Some were scribbled around a specific theme, some looked hastily-written. After a few, there were full verses with crossed-out lines, words encircled with little, mostly-infuriated comments beside them.  
There were lyrics that composed an entire song, lyrics that started from one place and ended up in another, and a single song that Akira’s been writing and re-writing for the past weeks all the way to late November.

At this point, he was halfway through the pages of the notebook, and as Akira sat up and reviewed the words, the lyrics, hummed to the slow, droning tune he’d sing the song in one day, he found himself becoming more and more agitated.

There was something wrong here. He couldn’t quite place his finger on it, but maybe it was the different songs around the “_I fucked up, I’m sorry_” theme he listened to, to get ideas for his own, sort of _apology song_.

Because maybe it was finished with Goro. Maybe he managed to fuck up his entire, would-be, could-be relationship with the man to the point of no return. Akira wanted to reach out and apologise, at least, but he was sure that didn’t guarantee he’d even be forgiven.

Still, he had to try.

With a final turn of the pages, Akira arrived at the last page he’d looked at and scribbled in before becoming too frustrated with himself, the Monday of that week. Re-reading the lines, he’d sigh to himself, and maybe it was counter-productive to do this (God knew all he wanted and needed in that moment was to rest) but Akira inched off his bed and over to his workstation.

With the computer booted up, his usual headphones around his ears, and his microphone settled before him, Akira glanced back down to the lyrics. His eyes would run over each word, sing it within his head. When he’d gone through the entire thing once, maybe five times, he’d take a deep breath, close his eyes, and press the button for the recording to begin.

* * *

_Oh, God_  
_ I’ve let the whole world down_  
_ I’ve burned my whole world to the ground_  
  
_ And I don’t know_  
_ Oh, I don’t know what’s next_  
  
_ Oh, God_  
_ I’m just tryna get through the night_  
_ I’m just tryna set things back right_  
  
_ So please,_  
_ Hear me out_  
  
_ And I swear_  
_ I swear_  
_ Oh, I swear to all of you_  
_ That I’m tryna be a better man_

_I’m just tryna be a better man _  
  
_ Give me one more chance_

* * *

_BANG_

The gun felt firm in his hands, gripped maybe too tightly and maybe with too much tension. Akira opened his eyes to the wide screen before him, wherein the first-person view of his character faded into a red “_GAME OVER_” card; In contrast, the monitor beside his displayed full health and half a magazine of bullets, yet with all of the enemies fallen. Eventually, their scores loaded up beside each other and Akira was prompted with the option to continue with the remaining tokens he had.

“Getting rusty, aren’t you?”

Seventeen and a second year at Shujin, Shinya Oda stood tall beside Akira, a smirk (that resembled Akira’s) on his cheeks. He looked over the older man with a curiosity piqued in his eyes and with a gun controller in one hand, perched and resting on his shoulder in the kind of pose Akira was sure he practised in front of a mirror to look cool.

Well, Akira wouldn’t deny that it _did_ kind of look cool, so.

Still, he sighed, a sheepish smile pulling up his cheeks as he inserted more tokens into Gigolo’s Gun About machine and their screens went back to the menu.

“Kind of,” he shrugged, “Haven’t really been getting much practise in with work and all.”

At that, Shinya snorted a laugh— but Akira knew it was in playful jest, and so responded with the stink eye before he himself melted into a little chuckle.

“That makes you sound so old!”

“What, the _work _part?” Akira snickered, poking the barrel of his controller against Shinya’s temple just once lightly, “Hate to break it to you but you’ll be working pretty soon, too.”

A dubious look, paired with a proud smile. It reminded Akira of himself in high school.  
And _that_ thought just made him feel older by tenfold. Gods, he was only twenty-two! It was no big deal.. According to Sojiro, he should _at_ _least_ wait until he turned 25 to start saying he feels old.

“I already _am_ kind of working right now, though,” Shinya would hum.

And now it was _his_ turn to shoot Shinya a disbelieving glance, pulling the trigger after he’d aimed for the new game button on his side of the screen.

“Flying around the world for Gun About championships doesn’t count as work.”

“I mean I get _paid_,” the boy argued, smile still on his cheeks and fingers making quick work to start a new game himself, “E-sports is just the same thing as sports but less physical and less popular.”

Okay, _point_. Akira could give him that.

As they began a new round with each other (co-op, but as always, competing to get the highest points) Akira would focus more on shooting down enemies and moving from spot to spot. Beside him, Shinya stayed quiet as he played with the same ferocity as his younger self had always done, though Akira could see him bite his lip from time to time with quick glances to his side. For a bit, he anticipated the usual swears and curses he often heard spill from the younger boy, even when he was _barely_ through elementary school— and would laugh hearing the occasional “_shit_” come from Shinya after a missed shot.

Though as he played, Akira couldn’t quite shrug off the phantom pain ghosting over his left bicep. The wound had pretty much healed already, but with each, loud gunshot that rang in his ears (amongst all the other noises pounding through to his head from around the arcade) Akira would almost falter.  
The gun in his hands felt heavy, as if it slowly morphed from a plastic controller to an actual pistol; The sound effects echoed louder, as if the bullets flying past the barricade his character hid behind was right beside him; The spot where his skin tore open and blood gushed out, though healed over, burned as if he were there again, fleeing from the rooftop of that building in Roppongi and feeling as if his arm had been dunked in boiling water.

Akira shouldn’t be bothered by it anymore. Akira should already be over it. He would always be shot at. This should be _nothing_ now—

He fired for an enemy.

_BANG _

The next thing Akira knew, his character had once more fallen and the red “_GAME OVER_” card faded in.

Shinya finished the round quickly afterwards as Akira simply stood and stared at the screen, gun lowered to his side. He was lucky for the dimness of the arcade, lest the younger boy would see the bone-white his knuckles had become.

“You’ve been distracted.”

It was a simple remark, one made outside of Gigolo and beside the vending machine Shinya’d bought two sodas out of. He handed one to Akira after approaching him, and it was hard to miss the small frown adorning the boy’s cheeks. His eyes spelled concern as he looked Akira in the face, easy when he was almost as tall as the man.

After thanking him for the drink, Akira would quietly open his can, shrugging non-conversationally. For a bit, he looked down at the purple grape soda that swished inside the can, swirling it here and there as he tried to think of a witty comeback to bump the mood back up.

Around them, the streets of Electric Town remained not too crowded despite the night that slowly crept into the sky, people sticking to their groups or looking around the shops. It wasn’t too void of people to be considered empty, but desolate enough for them to have a conversation without having to yell over noise for once.

Shinya settled beside him as he leaned against a railing.

“I wouldn’t say _distracted_—”

“You missed five enemies in a _row_.”

“So?”

Shinya cast him a _look_.

“For five rounds straight?” He shook his head. “You’re not yourself today. You usually never miss a shot.”

Again, a shrug. Akira took a swig of his soda, felt the fizziness burn in his throat for a bit.

“What happened to the legendary Joker, huh?”

At that, a weakened laugh emitted from Akira’s lips— something almost self-pitying.

“Aren’t legends allowed to die?” he countered, a bitter smile on his cheeks.

Shinya had stayed quiet for a bit. Akira could feel the burn of the boy’s gaze on the side of his face, would simply stare down at his can of soda. After a few seconds of shared silence between them, he heard Shinya gulp down some of his own soda, before his voice cut through the air.

“Y’know what? They are,” he began, and from his peripheral, Akira saw him shake his head, “But isn’t it always because they lost a part of themselves? _Joker_ doesn’t have to be one forever, but I’m worried about how the man behind the legend is doing right now.”

There was a sigh from Shinya then.

Akira would glance at the boy once, lips twitching up into a small smile as he looked forwards. His free hand formed a gun with his index and middle fingers extended outwards, pretending to shoot at the entrance of Gigolo with one eye closed as if aiming.

“_Bang_,” he said, quietly, “Hitting the mark, as always. When’d _you_ get so empathetic?”

The boy would only smile at him, then. His eyes had softened and his head once more shook, as if incredulous.

“I learned from the best,” he laughed, “So let me actually _use_ the empathy I learned to use. What happened to you, man?”

Well, how does one explain slight trauma from being grazed by a bullet? Or being nearly killed? Akira couldn’t outright _tell_ _him_ about the shooting part (the real type, not the play-pretend type) without consequences he can’t bother to list down: Exposure, arrest, possible incrimination— those and more. He was speaking to a gamer here, and though he trusted Shinya (maybe not enough to tell him about the life of crime he’s led for roughly five or six years,) they were in public.

It took a bit of reconstructing and a bit of changing details here and there, but when Akira finally opened his mouth, Shinya had finished his soda and had leaned back to sit on the railing, too.

“Do you ever have matches that hurt your pride?” he asked, as a way to start, “And not just the type of matches that don’t matter either, the ones that _really dig that knife into your pride and carve it out_.”

Shinya raised a brow at him, though nodded anyway.

“Really specific, but yeah. Continue.”

“It’s like that, I guess. I was playing online against a group of players 1v5 because my partner couldn’t respawn. I guess you could say they ambushed us at the map? They were a lower level than me but they threw me off and got the items I wanted out of the map we were in, plus the good shit I dropped.”

Akira kicked the ground, shoe scraping against the asphalt of the street.

“I wouldn’t be this upset about it if it weren’t for the fact that they used this cheat to get a really powerful gun. It’s how they got the jump on us.. I don’t know.”

“Sounds like a bunch of _assholes_, if you ask me,” Shinya hummed, though the evenness of his voice did little to hide the bluntness of his words, “Let me guess, you ranked down because of that, didn’t you?”

He’d only nod in response, shrugging as a small, _woeful_ smile turned up from his lips.

“I was really close to ranking up, actually.”

Shinya hissed lowly, as if he himself felt the burn of the situation.

“_Damn_.”

“Yeah..”

There was a silence that hung in the air between them. Akira counted the seconds, a slow one, two— he could _feel_ Shinya think about his next words, of what advice to give to the man who always had handfuls and anecdotes ready for him through the years that passed. Akira had long been a big brother figure to Shinya, he knew, and so it was easy for Shinya to depend on him when it came to the troubles of growing up, along with the troubles he faced as a child. Gods knew what would have become of Shinya Oda should he never have opened up about being bullied at school due to his mother.

“Do you remember when I told you about the champion that used cheats, back when I was twelve? The guy I ended up beating a few months later?” the boy would begin. Akira nodded.

The memories were hazy, but he could recall the state Shinya was in when he’d shot that winning bullet, and their match ended. _That_ began the reign of The King, he could say— the moment Shinya was crowned the champion of Gun About. His streak’s been nigh-unbroken since then.

“The only reason I even managed to face the guy again was because I had the chance to build myself back up. The first time I played against him, and found out he was using that special armour cheat, then _lost_.. That was the match that really hurt my pride the way you described it. I couldn’t move past that round, couldn’t really compete the way I used to..

“But then, y’know what? You helped me go back to my roots when you asked me to teach you. I found the thing that made me want to play and compete in Gun About again— and I think that’s what _you_ need right now. To build yourself back up. Try to move forward now.”

_Try to move forward now_.

Akira’s eyes were intent on Shinya as he spoke, watching him— watching the young man he’d grown into, the bangs that now swept to the side above his brows, the eyes that softened from the hard glare they’d always had set, looked down upon the old, red cap whose strap fastened to that of his schoolbag.

Shinya really _had_ changed and grown up from the quiet, hard-to-approach kid Akira met, all those years ago.

“You can’t really just _pretend like nothing happened_, either. You could take those things and make yourself stronger, build something better.. and that’s what I learned. No matter how far down you end up, you can always rebuild yourself.”

Once more, Akira looked over to the boy’s face, only to find that similar dark eyes had trained on him, too. Shinya’s expression spelled trust, _hope_— trust in Akira, hope in him. Akira could only chuckle quietly.

“Like a tower, huh?”

Shinya nodded, smile on his lips.

“Like a tower.”

“Huh.” He paused a beat, grin slowly twitching up his cheeks. “Thanks Shinya.”

Discarding his empty can in a nearby trash bin, Akira would place his hand upon the top of Shinya’s head, ruffling his hair and nodding towards the entrance of Gigolo. When the boy simply glared at him, Akira laughed.

“Man, if _that_ doesn’t remind me of you as a kid then I don’t know _what_ will. Come on, let’s play one more round before your mom thinks I’m “_being a bad influence on you_” again or something, _kid_.”

A confident snicker, right as Shinya began walking ahead of him.

“Alright, but get ready to eat _shit_, old man.”

* * *

_Try to move forward now _

_Pretend like nothing happened _

_Build back up  
Rebuild yourself _

_Go back to your roots _

_I’m trying to move forward now _

_Pretend like I was innocent _

_Climb back up? (sounds good) Rebuilding myself again?? _

_I’m trying to find who I am again  
The man behind the mask is missing (sounds a little stupid)_

* * *

Akira hummed, headphones (that played nothing but silence) in his ears and pen in hand.

The church around him was mostly quiet, mostly empty, which made for the perfect place closest to Gigolo to sit down and scribble away while the ideas still ran around his mind fresh. Some of Shinya’s words had stuck to him, and Akira wasn’t one to pass up an opportunity to get them recorded before he’d inevitably forget.

Which brought him there, sitting on the frontmost pew in a church he once frequented in Kanda, slouched over his notebook and making it seem as if he was there because he belonged there.

He had good memories here. No one really bothered anyone, and so long as you weren’t disturbing mass, you were free to stay as long as you liked. It was a good place for concentrating and thinking, and that was exactly what Akira needed.

Though as he finished jotting down “_find my purpose again_” beneath the latest line, humming before he’d nodded to himself, a shadow draped over his page. Three distinct stripes (orange, white, and blue) came into his peripheral, and the cherry blossom perfume that wafted over to his nose smelled of something—_someone_—much too familiar.

When his eyes trailed up from the notebook, he was met with a dark green gaze cast down over his own. They were as lively and lovely as when he’d last caught sight of them— which was on a livestream documenting her latest match. Of course, the woman dubbed the _Venus of Shogi_ (she who was one of Japan’s top players) had won.

Maybe it was from the shock, or maybe it was from being startled. Either way, there weren’t any traces of Akira’s more cool, charming persona as his eyes visibly widened and his jaw went slack. Even so, maybe she would’ve seen through it anyway, as she oversaw most tricks laid out before her like the skilled strategist she was.

“_Hifumi_?”

And the woman, at Akira’s surprised blurt, would simply offer a quiet laugh, a modest smile.

“I thought I saw someone familiar here,” she said, tone almost as if teasing Akira. Scrambling to scoot over and allow her a seat, he’d inhale through his nose just deep _enough_ to compose himself.

The sound of wood clacking onto wood made him look down upon the Shogi board set upon the spot between them, Hifumi herself settled on the opposite side. Though the board had simply sat there, still folded in two and the pieces hidden within, his mind flashed back to years past— of the days he’d sit there with Hifumi and learn the Game of Generals, of the times he’d pull tricks up his sleeve and catch the other off guard, and of the countless attempts made to charm the lady’s heart. Akira knew his chances were just _barely_ above rock-bottom then, but did that stop him? The answer may (not) surprise you.

When the memories of their time together flitted in and out of Akira’s mind, all at the single glimpse of a Shogi board between them within the very church (and on the very pew) they played in, he could only quietly chuckle.

“What is it?” Hifumi would inquire, the look in her eyes ever-curious as she peered up at him. Akira shook his head, almost dismissively.

“Nothing, it’s just..” he laughed again, the hand holding his pen sweeping over what he saw before him, “Looks familiar, doesn’t it?”

And then he saw Hifumi’s eyes follow the arc of his hand across the board, her gaze trailing up from the squares to Akira’s face. The grin on his face only widened as the woman, too, let out a soft laugh, a hand coming up to cover her mouth— as she always did.

“It certainly does”—she shook her head—“Even you with your notebook. Are you writing a song again?”

A shrug, though his eyes fell over to the words scribbled along the page. He supposed he was, though the feeling of writing for the sake of writing felt a bit foreign now, to the him who’d been dwelling on the apology song for far too many days since early November.

“Well, you know me,” Akira replied, tone teetering on the edge of nostalgia.

They would always spend time together like this, sitting together and talking if they weren’t playing games or looking for books through the treasure trove of bookstores in Tokyo. Akira would write and show Hifumi his works in progress, and Hifumi would teach him new strategies and techniques in the game of Shogi. Sometimes, they’d even change things up and walk around town together, stopping where it wasn’t too crowded and simply enjoy each other’s company. It was nice.

“I thought you were supposed to be in Kyoto for another week, though? For another match?”

“_Oh_, that.” Her brows furrowed a bit, just _delicately_, above her eyes. Hifumi’s smile turned sympathetic, gaze falling to the folded-up Shogi board. “My opponent had forfeited the match due to an accident he was caught up in.”

“Is— Is he _alright_, or—”

“Ah, no! No, it was only a bump with another car!” Hifumi breathed a sigh of relief. “No one was injured, thankfully.”

“That’s good,” Akira found himself mimicking the sigh, “So that’s why you’re back in Tokyo early?”

Their eyes met.

“Well, I missed home.”

There was a reply ready on his tongue then, though Akira caught himself before he’d even opened his mouth. It would only exhume the hatchet they’d already buried, and he didn’t want to start old fights anymore. Hifumi wasn’t one to stay in one place for very long due to the tournaments she’d had lined up, too, so it was a wasted opportunity to be together like they’d always used to.

That was one of the things he wished he could convince her about, despite knowing that her heart would be set on becoming the best Shogi player, anyway. If there wasn’t any hope for it _then_, who was to say there would be hope now? She was on the road to becoming Japan’s greatest player, and though he wanted to have another shot (for maybe all the wrong reasons) Akira didn’t want to get in her way again.

Instead of the sharp, maybe too-passive-aggressive “_For once_” his mind thought of replying with, he’d instead say,

“A part of home missed you, too.”

A sad smile. Hifumi averted her eyes.

“I know, and I’m sorry for that, Akira.”

“It’s fine, no biggie,” he shrugged, “It really couldn’t be helped, and it’s all in the past now. I’m just glad you caught me while you’re still here.”

Finally, Akira would close his notebook, set it down beside himself with the pen he’d been twirling around his fingers as they conversed. He’d look over the Shogi board, thumb swiping across a corner, almost nostalgically.

“How about a game?” he’d speak up, looking Hifumi in the eyes once again. “For old time’s sake. I’ll even go easy on you.”

Akira winked, though in jest, as he hoped it came across. When Hifumi had simply stopped (stared at him for a solid second) before laughing as she nodded, though, his smile went wide and in his head, he pumped a fist into the air. Success!

“I won’t hold back then!”

It was as interesting (and as intense) as he’d remembered it.  
Whenever they played together, Akira loved the challenge Hifumi presented to him; To beat her. To try and match her ferocity. She was an obstacle one could not easily bypass, and it made Shogi with Hifumi more than worthwhile and more than a good way to let the hours pass by. Though Akira’d been out of practise, he still remembered the things she’d taught him, pulled the memories and tactics out from within the depths of his subconscious— which seemed not to be too lost in the abyss, considering Akira sometimes implemented her strategies during heists.

What made Shogi with her even more interesting were the thoughts that spilled from her lips.

Oftentimes, Hifumi had a habit (one that Akira found both admirable _and_ terrifying) of vocalising her musings. When she was at a crossroads, she’d mumble about the cleverness of the opposing General; When she captured an enemy, she’d hum lowly and almost taunt her opponent; And when she was certain of her victory, Akira almost felt an aura of dominance and pride emanate from Hifumi through her words alone. Even her quiet observations seemed to stem from the all-too-articulate General hidden within her soul, the competitive side of herself that thrived in a challenge and a good match.

Their pieces clacked as they moved them across the board. Though it was quiet in the air between them (save for Hifumi’s words, carried by her drive) Akira could feel the growing competitive tension, the gears in his head turning as he searched for the best move to evade her attacks or break through her defences. Of course, a novice competing against one of Japan’s top players could (expectedly) only end one way— and it did.

Thought he wasn’t at all a hopeless case, Akira still held his own against her in their match. He’d managed to take a few pieces here and there (sacrificial pawns, as it turned out, because they were merely there for Akira to be lured in her traps) and he’d even seen through some of the patterns Hifumi played in. Though he’d lost, it was still a loss he could take without shame. He’d given his all against Hifumi, and Hifumi had given her best against him. It was a good round.

“Still unbeatable, as always,” Akira breathed, right as he’d been cornered, “Spare me, o great Venus of Shogi.”

“I’m afraid the game of war is merciless, cunning gambler. With this, I move to capture your King!”

Akira would watch, in mild faux-horror, as his King was trapped. The look in Hifumi’s eyes radiated proud joy, and as their game came to a close, she’d look up at him and grin. Akira simply laughed.

“I win, Akira.”

“Like I said, I was going easy on you.”

A snort, right before Hifumi burst into a fit of giggles.  
Akira loved that about her. Though she was a composed woman of grace and poise, the laughter he’d sometimes earn from Hifumi revealed just how much she actually enjoyed his company, his jokes, and his bad (nay, _terrible_) puns. The lively, lovely, so very _warm_ laughs that spilled from her drew Akira to a sparkle in those viridescent eyes, to the flush in her cheeks— to her lips, hidden beneath a hand she’d always cover her mouth with.

Her laugh was infectious. Akira soon found himself chuckling, too.

He’d once told her that her smile was beautiful as she laughed, at a time that seemed as if it were an eternity ago. Still, Hifumi never seemed to trust him on that.

“I appreciate that,” Hifumi would sputter, in between her giggles and snorts, “Like all the _other_ times I had you backed up against a wall, huh, Aki?”

“Literally _and_ metaphorical—”

But then he’d freeze. Bite his lip. Suddenly, the stained glass windows looked _much_ more interesting to look at.

** _Nice_ ** _. _

Akira wanted to slap himself, though the bark in his subconscious’ voice was doing a splendid enough job already at berating himself in his own head. Hifumi, too, had gone quiet, and Akira could just _feel _the awkwardness seep back into the air.

“Sorry, I—” he’d begin, head shaking, “That was.. a slip of the tongue. Sorry.”

He heard the other sigh.

“No, it’s fine. I’d only like to continue being your friend, no matter what happened between us in the past.”

“We never really _did_ talk about it, did we?” Akira would murmur, “And I feel like it was.. Mostly _my_ fault..”

The wood of the pew creaked just ever so slightly as Hifumi shifted in her seat, no doubt with fingers laced together on her lap, her gaze down to her hands as she thought. It was in moments such as these that Akira cursed his sharp memory, as all it ever seemed to do was sting and stab at his heart.

“Well, I can’t very much blame you either way. My actions must’ve felt selfish to you.”

His gaze snapped back to the woman then. Akira looked at her disbelievingly, almost as if doubting her very words. Despite so, his voice held no hesitation as he blurted out.

“It wa— It _is_ your dream, though. I wouldn’t have stopped you. I was angry but I never wanted you to give up on Shogi because of—”

“But did it really have to come to giving _you_ up for Shogi?”

There wasn’t a hint of anger in her voice, nor of any _grudge_ held against Akira— instead, there was a hint of sadness, of regret, _remorse_.  
Hifumi looked back at him, brows furrowed and stare beholding a quiet, almost withdrawn melancholy. Her lips were pulled taut into a tight line, and Akira saw the way her hands tensed on her lap.

And there was another strike to his heart, a stinging sensation in some deeply-buried memories he’d repressed _long_ ago. Akira hated thinking about it— thinking about how demanding he’d become, how the distance between them affected the distance between their hearts, long ago, when they were nineteen and too naïve.

“It couldn’t have been helped..”

“Perhaps,” Hifumi sighed, almost longingly, “Perhaps it was just the wrong time. I was becoming a serious competitor and focusing more on my tournaments, and you were becoming busier with your shows. We could’ve made it, perhaps, if only we thought of each other differently..

“But we were too _young_, too _immature_, and Fate has led down this path. Though I still do miss you from time to time, I accept that this is my reality now, Akira. I forgive you for what happened to us. Now, I think all you need is to forgive yourself, and move on.”

Her eyes fell back down to the board between them, smiling a sad smile to herself as her head bowed.

“And I can only ask that you forgive _me_ for giving up on us so easily. I’m sorry.”

Akira.. wasn’t sure for how long he remained silent. It felt as if Hifumi’d explained it so accurately, what happened to them, in her own eloquent way— like she’d given thought to it, maybe _too much _thought to it. Her hair (chopped short to her shoulders now, making her look as mature as she was) fell over her face, hands on her lap above the dress she wore, one that was similar to her favourite dress when she was younger— and Akira had simply stared at her, eyes widened and lips parted.

It felt as if _he_ should’ve been the one bowing for forgiveness at that moment.

“I forgive you,” he instead settled on, hand coming to her shoulder in a comforting grip, “So please, stop bowing your head. I forgive you, Hifumi.”

Hifumi angled her head, eyes peering up at him. As she sat back upright, Akira felt as if a weight were lifted off his shoulders, felt as if he could _breathe_ easier now— and judging by the smile that reached her eyes, Hifumi felt the same.

“Friends?” Akira spoke up, hope in his tone and the hand that held her shoulder, now extended out to Hifumi in an offer to shake. Hifumi took his grip without hesitation, and for a second, the image of her crestfallen face as they sat within that church just three years ago during Tanabata, flashed in his mind— but this time, it didn’t hurt. It didn’t feel like the redness of her eyes then, nor the quietness of her rasped voice, would haunt him anymore.

She smiled at him now.

“Friends.”

* * *

“Hey, I’m home!”

“Welcome back, dumb-dumb!”

There she was again, spread across the couch with her laptop. Though Akira had The Metaverse to run tonight, it was still pretty early— theoretically, if they busted ass in the next ten minutes, he could still grab a bite with Futaba and Sojiro _and_ make it back before prep began.

After toeing off his shoes at the entrance, Akira leaned over the back of the couch, eyes down at the pair focused on her screen.

“_So_,” he spoke up, coughing, even, “I have a pitch. You might not like it, but hear me out here— stop working right now and let’s go get dinner with dad tonight. It’s been a while.”

And surprisingly, Futaba’s eyes snapped up towards him the _moment_ dinner with Sojiro was mentioned. They beheld a look of startlement, maybe even _shock_— and it resonated within her tone as the clicking of her keys paused.

“Wait, _really_? You might be late opening the club, though.”

“Nah, it’ll be fine. I figured we should have family dinner night more often.” Akira shrugged.

“And Mona? He’ll be alone here.”

The black lump of fur curled above her legs angled his head up once he’d heard his name. Mona’s blue eyes found Akira, and with not a second to waste, hopped up to the back of the couch (balanced effortlessly with his small paws and sharp claws) before he began moving back and forth rubbing up against his father’s chest.

While one of Akira’s hands made to scratch around the cat’s chin, his other unzipped the bag slung on one of his shoulders. Hell, it’d been a while since they’d done this, but it was worth a try.  
Carefully, with the hand that petted Mona, Akira began leading him closer and closer towards the free space within his bag— all until Mona himself hopped into the comfortable carry-on, sat himself as he’d always used to do, and purred up at Akira.

His smile was comparable to that of a proud father’s as he looked back to Futaba, who’d been watching the entire thing sat up on the couch.

“O..kay then.” She closed the lid of her laptop, stood and stretched. “Didn’t know Mona still even _knows_ that trick. We should bring him with us more often when we go out.”

In response, the cat meowed at her, right before Akira zipped the bag closed most of the way— leaving a part of it open so he’d be comfortable. The weight of his cat within his bag once more was something he’d stopped getting used to when Akira moved into his own place, but Mona was light enough that it wasn’t a bother carrying him around to and from Yongen-Jaya.

“Yeah..” he hummed, patting the top of his bag a bit, “We _should_, huh?”

But Futaba was already in her room gathering her backpack, and so Akira opted to await her by the front entrance. It didn’t take too long before the short, redheaded woman emerge from the corner, and they were off.

* * *

_  
_

_Try to move forward now _

_Pretend like nothing happened _

_Build back up  
Rebuild yourself _

_Go back to your roots _

_I’m trying to move forward_

_I could pretend like I was innocent _

_Climb back up? (sounds good) Rebuilding myself again?? _

_I’m trying to find who I am again_  
<strike>The man behind the mask is missing (sounds a little stupid)</strike>  
Find my purpose again

_I was too young and too immature _

_Think differently _

_Forgive yourself, move on _

_ <strike>We grow and</strike> _  
_ Let the times pass and the ice melt (what the fuck is imagery)_  
_ The seasons change, like the way we think_

_I can forgive me for the sins I’ve committed (sounds conceited) (this is an apology song jackass)_

* * *

Several days have come and passed since his meetings with Shinya and Hifumi— and thus far, the only progress he’d made with the song stared him in the face as he leaned over his notebook atop Leblanc’s counter.

Akira’d come to the conclusion that he was re-writing the apology song, but with all the words he’d jotted down, it felt more like he was writing a “_pitying myself_” song more than anything. He was still missing _something_, he just didn’t know _what_— and it was driving him near mad again.

The pen he tapped on the surface of the counter echoed among the quietness of Leblanc, and not even the sound of the pot boiling nor the smell of the café’s coffee around him could rise above his internal argument— the back and forth of two voices within his head that sounded one and the same (which he knew were both his) arguing about how he worded _this_ or how he could make _that_ sound more remorseful, or how the entire thing sounded like a trainwreck set to flames _already_ despite being in development, still—

_You know, you’re **really** being counterproductive with what Hifumi told you. You’re trying to **forgive yourself**, remember? _

Yes, but that felt hard when he felt all too guilty for the events nearly three months past.

_The ice melting line sounds good, though. _

But what the fuck was he even trying to _say_ there? It was too vague and confusing. Besides, wasn’t this supposed to be a song trying to say sorry to _him_?

_Here me out here, it’s an idea you’ll probably hate— what if you learn to take a step back and stop trying to think about this for a day. You’ve been obsessing over it for far too long and now you’ve got tunnel vision. _

He’ll never get it out at this rate, though.

—And he’d been like that for the past two hours.

At early December, it seemed as if customers came in large groups before dissipating and leaving the place empty for long stretches of time. That left Akira with _much_ too little things to do and a _lot_ of time to drown within his own thoughts. It was driving him nuts. The muscles beneath his brows began to ache with how hard he’d furrowed them.

But _ah_, maybe that was the pounding within his head. Maybe his vision swam because he’s been using those fake glasses again. It felt like there were jackhammers going wild behind his eyes, or maybe it was from staring down at the notebook for too long, or maybe he just had too much coffee to drink today.

He knew that wasn’t it. Akira only had a cup and a half of coffee so far in his day and it was already creeping towards five in the evening.

Thinking about the time he had left made the migraine worse. Akira dropped his pen beside the notebook and clutched his head in his hands.

Sojiro’s voice came from the other side of the counter, farther towards the kitchen side, Akira guessed. His world was spinning _too much_ for him to tell where the attic stairs were from where the front door was.

“You doing okay, kid?”

In reply, all he could offer was a groan.

There was a paw batting at the back of his head then, which laid atop the bar. Mona thought he was playing dead— and Mona _loved_ playing with things that were playing dead. It wasn’t too long until the cat climbed on his back and began swatting at Akira’s curls from where he sat, tail thumping into his spine excitedly.

Akira didn’t even have the energy to tell his beloved to leave him alone at the moment. He just wanted to curl up and sleep.

Since the dinner where Akira had brought Mona to the Sakura residence via his bag, he’d gotten back into the habit of bringing his cat virtually everywhere— the only exception being The Metaverse, when he was working. Sojiro never minded Mona, even encouraged that Akira let him loose around Leblanc again. It was the sole reason why he was even _there_, getting his claws tangled in Akira’s hair again.

Thankfully, he felt the weight of the feline lifted off of him, right as he heard Sojiro speak up from above his slumped-over figure.

“I think we should call for Doctor Takemi. You look in worse shape than when you fell off that tree trying to save Mona.”

Akira, in fact, did _not_ fall off the tree trying to save Mona that one time; The _one_ time Sojiro saw him with bruises and a black eye was one of his first training sessions with Morgana. Still, he attempted to voice his appreciation by groaning once more— a more appreciative-sounding groan, if there’s ever been one.

“I’m _fine_, dad..”

Akira tried to lift his head and smile at the older man. He ended up feeling like there were nails being driven into his skull.

Maybe Sojiro wouldn’t notice how strained and pained his grin was.

“Akira, my eyes may already be worse than before but I can still see how much pain you’re in.”

He slumped back onto the counter.

“Okay, you’re right..” he huffed, “What about the café, though?”

“I can handle it, kid. Your wellbeing is more important to me right now, so I want you to get checked out.”

He groaned again, though lower and more dragged out— it was, as some would dare call it, a definite _whine_.

But that was before he’d untied the strings of his apron from behind his back. Groggily, he’d stand and trudge over to the hook where he’d usually hang it up to deposit it there, and with another smile to Sojiro, he’d pick up his bag from a little shelf above the kitchen and sling it over his shoulder, afterwards heading for the door— but not before grabbing his notebook and pen and shoving those into a pocket at the side, because he couldn’t be bothered to open the zipper and put them in and do the entire process.

“I’m going to her clinic, then.”

“You know we could just call her here.”

Akira shrugged.

“It’s fine. She’s just a short walk away, and maybe that’ll help my head a little. I’ll see you in a few. Sorry for the trouble, dad.”

And thus, began his quest to navigate his way to Takemi’s clinic. All he had to do was round two corners and he’d find himself there, but the pounding in his head made what was supposed to be a five-minute walk (at _most_) a ten-minute _nightmare_ consisting of walking into walls, walking into telephone posts, and almost slipping and falling on his face as he climbed the stairs up to Takemi’s clinic. As he pushed into the doors, Akira practically made a beeline for a seat at the waiting area, seeing as Takemi wasn’t at her usual spot sitting in the mini-pharmacy up front.

And _maybe_ the walk helped a little, but Akira felt like he just treaded through Hell and just _barely _managed to get to the other side. He’d leaned back against the wall as he sat there, bag on his lap and eyes squeezed shut.

He got to relax for a few minutes. He really did. That might’ve been a blessing in and of itself, but when he felt a presence approach him with heels clacking against the tiled floor, the speed of which he snapped his eyes open and adrenaline pumped into his veins just sent his head into _another_ frenzy.

Why was he so on edge? It was only making things worse.

“You dropped this.”

Her voice was, as he could only describe it, _serious_. She was the kind of woman that held an aura of power and control around her, but in that moment, she seemed to hold genuine concern for him. Well, he supposed it was only natural, considering he felt (and probably also looked like) he was at Death’s door.

Still, Akira’s eyes trailed down to the little, white notebook she held— and could only accept it, offering a quiet thanks.

She looked familiar to him, once she’d sat a seat away from his and he’d gotten a good look at her. Somehow, her red eyes held a certain _coldness _he could faintly recall he last saw some few months ago. Aside from that, the silver hair and the black business suit were something he could remember seeing in Leblanc, maybe once, maybe five times. He wasn’t sure. There were many faces that flitted in and out of the café, and though Akira was good at remembering faces, his head hurt _far_ too much for him to search his own memories.

The _click_ of the examination room’s door opening made him look to the figures who’d emerged from within, answered his unsent prayers. Her patient had gone straight out the door as soon as he thanked Takemi, and the doctor herself simply stood there, clipboard in hand as she looked it over, checked here, wrote a bit there— the usual.  
When she’d looked up, she simply motioned for Akira to go inside the examination room first with a point of her pen— and before he’d trudged inside completely, saw a glimpse of Takemi approaching the woman, and the woman standing up as a look (something like fondness and subtle happiness) softened her stern features. Akira didn’t think much of it. Maybe he should have, at the time.

By the time Takemi had entered the room, Akira was sat on the hospital bed with his jacket and shirt pulled off, his arm in full display and his head in one hand as he slouched forward. Though he didn’t much mind having to wait, his head still pestered him. Takemi sat on her office chair, pulled out a folder with his files, and read over her most recent reports on his status.

“You look like shit,” she commented, tone uninterested like she was making a simple observation— and she _was_.

Akira’s only response was to groan and shrug. At that, Takemi let out a soft laugh.

“So what do you want checked up first, your arm or your head?”

It was cold inside her examination room. Akira wanted to crawl back into the warmth of his sweater. Silently, he lifted his arm, eyes leaving Takemi’s neutral expression and shifting over to the dark patch of skin that covered where he was grazed.

The heels of her shoes clicked as she stepped over to Akira, standing over him. Her hand held his arm in place as she eyed it, ran a thumb over the scar, hummed to herself as Akira did his damnest not to let himself lay down on the sheets. It proved to be a chore more than anything.

“Well, you didn’t get an infection. Scar tissue looks healed over, no more pain _now_— though it would’ve been preferable that you stopped working while it healed, at least you weren’t still going on missions. I can give you the usual to even out your skin tone, but the scar will still be there.”

“That’s fine.”

Takemi let go of his arm, went back to her seat. As Akira redressed, he could hear the quiet creaking of her chair as she leaned back, along with the distant humming noise that always seemed to echo around the doctor’s examination room. When he’d pulled his sweater back on, the dark brown gaze of the woman caught his.

“Headaches again?” she said, though in no way of query. He’d reported to her about the throbbing within his head here and there before, though this was by far the worst incident. Akira wanted to nod, though instead settled on giving her a hum of affirmation.

His doctor handed him a glass of water, along with a painkiller— Takemi-grade. A single pill was enough to stave away the pounding within his head for the time being.

“No matter how many times I run the same tests on you, it’s still the same.” Takemi shook her head, flipping through the pages within his files. “Everything checks out normal in your body. I can’t pinpoint the exact cause of what’s giving you these migraines, but I _do_ wonder..”

She hummed, eyes narrowed as she stared at Akira. As he emptied his glass (swallowing the painkiller with his water) he’d stare back— though more curious than anything. The throbbing had begun to subside.

“How have your emotions been lately?”

_A pain in the ass_, he wanted to say. Akira held the glass on his lap, nail picking at the rim— if only because he wanted to his hands to stop fidgeting. Still, he wondered how this had anything to do with his head.

Maybe he just answered his own question.

“The usual, I guess,” he shrugged, “Since Z’s cut our heists down, I’ve had the chance to relax a little more but the stress is still there.”

“And in your personal life?”

At that, his lips tugged down.

“Stressful.”

Takemi encircled something on his files.

“This is only a hypothesis, but your emotions could very well be the cause of these headaches— _Emotional stress_, specifically. Inner conflicts. If, for example, your brain is a machine, you’re metaphorically running it on overdrive thinking about too many things at once. I’d assume this is because of your targets?”

“That’s _one_ of the things,” Akira laughed bitterly, “The case we’re on right now is big— If you want me to be frank, it’s driving me _crazy_. I can’t count how many times I couldn’t sleep thinking about it, and sometimes I can’t even get the energy to eat much. I’ve accepted I could be killed doing this a _long_ time ago, but the target right now is too powerful. If I fuck up just _one_ time, I could put every single person I care about in danger and—”

But then he’d stop, shake his head. Takemi peered at him curiously, as if she were studying him from her seat. In her hands, her clipboard replaced the folder of his history and her pen sat at the ready on a page.

“Sorry for rambling, I just.. I can’t handle this right now.”

“No, no. This is actually good.” The doctor looked to her notes, jotting a few things down as she spoke. “Venting is an effective way to let out the stress, so I urge you to continue. If you’re wondering why I’m not directing you to therapy, I doubt any therapist could sit still knowing about your”—she coughed—“.. _job_, so to speak. Even _if_ sworn to confidentiality. I’d rather you not take the risk.”

Takemi nodded at him curtly.

“So _please_, feel free.”

Takemi was never one to care much about Akira Kurusu. Their relationship was strictly professional between the doctor patching him up when things got out of hand, and him offering his body up for experimentation on the drugs she developed— but as Akira spilled his woes, worries, and anxieties regarding his life as Arsene, she’d sat there on her office chair, clipboard in hand as she sometimes jotted down notes and simply, _silently_, lent him an ear.

There were brief moments during his tales when Akira caught a glimpse of softened, brown eyes, like there was _some _emotion there (concern, maybe? Sympathy? Akira wasn’t sure) that seeped through to her gaze. For once, Akira felt like this wasn’t their standard _doctor-patient_ routine— and he didn’t know how to feel about it.  
Takemi was part of his criminal life, and he’d been careful never to tangle Akira and Arsene together with _anyone_. He kept them separated, at bay from each other: as far away from each other as possible, even— but when he went on a tangent about his target (Masayoshi Shido) possibly uncovering his identity somehow, the very real possibility of him targeting Akira’s family or friends, and his anxieties regarding that.. Takemi stayed quiet even as he talked about it. Spoke about the people he was trying his fucking _damnest_ to protect at all costs. Found himself going on a ramble about a man with chestnut brown hair and striking red eyes, who he fucked up with the _most_ out of anyone in his life.

It was maybe twenty-five minutes into that same rant did Takemi first ask him a question.

“This man.. Is he your partner?”

And it was such a simple question. Straightforward. Akira could see why she’d focus on _him_— after all, he was the one going on and on about cutting corners and beating around the bush about what their relationship was, exactly, along with essentially destroying what they had for the sake of keeping him at arm’s length to get him as uninvolved as possible. Still, Akira couldn’t stop the sigh that left his lips.

“_No_, we were just—”

And what _were_ they, friends? Dating? Seeing each other? Standing on that thin line that bordered between _friends_ and _partners_? Well, Akira supposed he never made it clear: both to Goro, and to himself.

Either way, it took him a few seconds to settle on an answer.

“Just.. Just _friends_.”

Akira watched her take note on her clipboard.

“I would’ve thought you were _together_ judging by how upset and stressed you seem over _him_, specifically,” she commented, eyes on him again.

There was a bit of scrutiny in her gaze, something like the look Futaba usually gave him. It was curious, yet at the same time, Akira saw the cogs in her head turn behind the stare that bore into his. Takemi looked as if she contemplated her words as he stayed silent.

“This is only a hunch, but you’ve probably been thinking about him too much, haven’t you? He’s been on your mind even when you don’t want him to?”

Takemi had said it in a way that sounded less like questions, and more like guesses— guesses that stemmed from experience, from being there first-hand. When Akira simply nodded, Takemi encircled something on her clipboard before letting out a soft laugh.

“Your feelings for him must be strong, then. You remind me of me when _I _first got into a fight with my significant other.”

She laughed again, to which Akira would simply stare dumbfounded at her because _Takemi wasn’t single_. He’d always pegged her for the _married to my job_ type.

“A word of advice, though? Well, you can count this as your prescription for today, too, regarding the headaches.

“If it’s as bad as you say it is, and you still feel for him as strongly, try to apologise as soon as you can. Talk to him. When your target is finished and it’s all over, and you feel that you trust him enough, be honest about why you’ve treated him the way you have. Who knows, you might be able to start over again.”

Akira eyed her sceptically, brows furrowed and lips pulled into a straight line across his cheeks.

“Didn’t you _just _say not to take the risk telling anyone about my “_job_?””

“If the feelings are mutual, he’ll most likely trust you and your cause and keep quiet about it,” Takemi laughed, “Believe me— I’m a black market, underground doctor dating a _prosecutor_.”

* * *

_I could say “hey” _  
_ Like nothing happened_  
_ Like I was innocent_

_But I know_  
_ It wasn’t just him_  
_ I hurt all of them_

_And since then_  
_ I’ve had the time to think_  
_ I’ve lost all of me again_  
_ And oh_

_I’m tryna move forward now _  
_ I’m not gonna turn it back around_  
_ Cuz the seasons change_  
_ And so does the way we think_

_I’m tryna see it all again _  
_ I’m tryna find my purpose _

* * *

“Doesn’t this feel like betrayal to you?”

_“What? **Nah**, I’m getting some good shit out of this.” _

Akira looked over the computer screen, watched as the files copied into one of Futaba’s hard drives— all while the other hard drive was sneaking her spyware in.

The apartment they’d snuck into was dark, the only source of light being those of faraway buildings from beyond the windows behind where he sat. As Akira busied himself stealing all (Futaba had emphasised during their briefing, “_every single file you can find_”) of the documents within the computer of an infamous information broker within Ikebukuro, Morgana was wiretapping the place top to bottom—behind the tall bookshelves on the second floor, in the kitchen, vents, inside and under furniture—the usual spots.

Strangely, the place was void of people before they’d snuck in; But probably, that wasn’t _too _strange. After all, this information broker (known around the area as “_Nakura_”) supposedly had three apartments scattered around Tokyo, and liked to skip around the city bearing witness to any and all mayhem available— but then again, Ikebukuro seemed like his main hideout. It was _far_ too quiet within the home, and Akira wasn’t terribly fond of it.

“But you’re basically an information broker stealing from an information broker right now,” he’d murmur into his earpiece.

_“Eh. Don’t care.” _

He could just _see_ her shrug from his mind’s eye.

It was an easy job for December— another _get in, get the files, get out. _Though this time, they weren’t at the house of a businessman or a politician, nor in the underbelly of Tokyo to thieve from mobs or gangs. Instead, they’d gotten a tip from Ohya about an enigmatic information broker out in Ikebukuro, who reportedly even got tangled up in foreign research facilities and the yakuza: Maybe even about a certain researcher studying human cognitions, who disappeared over ten years ago.  
He was infamous for being a sly bastard, for being just about five steps ahead in the game he played. He liked to be a catalyst, followed the beat of his own drum and played by his own rules.

Maybe that last piece of trivia was taken literally, too. Akira’d realised it when he caught sight of the Shogi board sitting on a desk near the workstation he was at— upon it scattered different pieces from all different kinds of board games, from chess, to Shogi, to Go.

_“Okay, okay, we got in! Everything on my hard drive yet?” _Futaba would chime in, urgency in her tone now. Akira unplugged both hard drives and stuffed them into his pocket, right when he saw the progress bar for copy-pasting the files had finished. Shutting off the computer, he’d whistle to Morgana to notify him of his end.

“Just waiting on Z now, don’t worry. It’s an easy job.”

And it _was _an easy job, for once. Morgana had rendezvoused with him at the balcony, where they snuck in from and where they’d escaped, and after rounding back to Shinjuku, it was still _just _past two in the morning. That had to be the earliest they’d returned yet.

As soon as Akira handed their hacker the hard drives, Futaba was quick to sort through the files and coo little “_oohs_” and “_a-hahs!_” at the discoveries she’d made. Not wanting to disturb her, he’d simply wandered back into his room, out of his thieving outfit, into a comfortable pair of sweats, and onto his office chair.

He’d look over the notebook he’d left on his desk, read through the verse he had so far. The night was young, and he wasn’t even all too tired from their escapade, and so continued work on the melody he’d already started on.

Maybe the most thrilling thing that happened that night was the hand that suddenly gripped his shoulder, making him almost jump in the midst of him bobbing his head to the beat he’d built up. Turning, Akira would find Morgana standing above him, though his eyes (those impossibly-bright eyes) focused on the different samples spread across his screen.

The look on his face read of intrigue, a piqued curiosity though Morgana had already seen him work on music before. When his eyes shifted to Akira, though, Akira saw hints of relief in them, too— along with a smile.

“Good job tonight,” he’d say simply, patting Akira’s shoulder, “And good luck.”

Akira pulled the headphones from his ears as Morgana headed for the door.

“You’re leaving already?”

Morgana could only give him an apologetic half-smile, hand on the doorframe.

“I’ve got some things I have to take care of but I’ll see you two next month, alright?”

“Sure— But, Morgana?”

The man peered at him, eyes wide and almost glowing in the darkness of his bedroom.

“Happy holidays.”

A nod, along with a grin. He saluted Akira as he walked out.

“Good luck with Akechi, bud.”

* * *

_I could say “hey” _  
_ Like nothing_  
_ Oh, nothing really happened_

_And I could pretend_  
_ Like I ain’t guilty of anything _

_But since then _  
_ I’ve had the time to think_  
_ I’ve lost all of me again_  
_ And oh_

_I’m tryna move forward now _  
_ I’m not gonna turn it back around_  
_ Cuz the seasons change_  
_ And so does the way we think_

_I’m tryna see it all again_  
_ I’m tryna find my purpose _

_It’s an uphill road_  
_ So I guess the only way I’ll go is up _

_I swear I’m tryna find me again _  
_ I swear I’m tryna make up for my sins_  
_ I swear, no_  
_ I swear to God_  
_ I swear I’m gonna climb this hill to the top_

_And since then_  
_ Ran through these thoughts a mile a minute_  
_ Over and over again_  
_ Changed these lyrics, texts, messages_  
_ Whatever I can_

_And it’ll never be enough, no _  
_ But guess what_  
_ The only way I’ll go is up_

* * *

The rest of December came and went. When Akira wasn’t working in either the club or Leblanc, he was in his room, working on the song— though, for once, it couldn’t be helped: Ryuji and his mother once more went back to the country to spend the holidays with their family, Yusuke and Futaba were on dates, and Ann and Shiho were in Yamaguchi. That really only left Akira with the choice to either roam the streets of Shibuya, play with his cat, or work on music he wanted to release soon— one in particular, he wanted to upload on New Year’s.

But time sped by. The days passed. Akira’d finished the song just days before the end of the year, and on New Year’s Eve, he found himself at home— though not _his apartment_. Rather, he was at Leblanc, sitting on a booth with Sojiro and Futaba.  
On the table before them sat the fried chicken they’d ordered, toshikoshi soba Sojiro prepared, along with his famous coffee and curry. Akira brought cake he bought on the way to Yongen-Jaya, and they enjoyed the final day of the year together as a family.

When midnight neared, they were outside the café with sparklers of varying sizes, awaiting the fireworks, sitting together and teasing one another— momentarily panicking when Sojiro hurt his back a bit trying to chase Futaba around.

There were jokes, and there was laughter, and it all culminated into a group hug as the clock struck twelve and fireworks shot up into the sky.  
The once-dark blanket of night lit up with different shapes and patterns, in vibrant colours that spanned the entirety of the rainbow. Around them, other families had also stepped out of their homes to watch the spectacle, greeted their neighbours a happy new year, enjoyed each other’s company.

Akira had nearly forgotten, swept up in the moment that bloomed warmth and happiness within him as he spent time with his dad and his sister, but when his alarm vibrated in his pocket twenty minutes past midnight, he’d stepped away for a bit to upload his song before devoting the rest of his time to Sojiro and Futaba— ignored the notifications his phone vibrated with while he was with them.

It was maybe around one in the morning when he’d returned to his apartment in Shinjuku. Though the night was mostly silent after the fireworks shows, the red light district never relented.  
Some bars had stayed open and welcomed all guests to drink in celebration, some clubs were either rented out or stayed in business throughout the new year, and the already-bright neon in the area seemed just a little bit brighter. Even so, everything he passed by gave off more festive vibes than usual, so it was an enjoyable walk back to his apartment either way.

But that was the thing about being a night owl. Though he wanted to get in some rest before sunrise (just so he would be able to drink in the fresh, new year dawn) he couldn’t exactly force himself to sleep, even despite the late nights (early mornings?) he’d been pulling the past few weeks. Maybe he could stay up just a few hours longer until sunrise and _then_ crash? Akira mulled it over as he punched in his code.

The moment he’d fallen onto the couch, Mona was there to jump atop him and curl up on his stomach. Akira sighed contentedly as he scratched and petted the black cat, who purred as he laid there, eyes closed, most likely already asleep. His phone vibrated again.

Well, if he was going to be Mona’s pillow for a good forty minutes, at least he had a charged phone on hand.

His notifications were cluttered with mostly YouTube uploads, most of them different people greeting their fans a happy new year. Akira was quick to dismiss them in one go after watching a single video— but then he’d stop, eyes caught on a thumbnail on his recommended. The title of the video was simply “_909_” but the face that stared back at him on the thumbnail, the name of the channel.. There wasn’t really any room for doubt, or second thoughts, or _any _thoughts at all really, because Akira’d already tapped to watch the upload.

His eyes were glued to the man as he danced, slow, _soulful_, as if he’d relinquished all control of his body and let the music guide it. The lyrics felt like messages he translated with his movements, and though Akira got the feeling of slight hopelessness in the song, the dance felt more calm and accepting that anything— like the exhaustion after a long fight.

And there was a bud of guilt there, stabbing at his chest. It persisted through the video, and though Akira’d said (sung) his piece already, there’d always be a sliver of guilt left within him, in the pit of his stomach.

When the video ended, Akira would simply clutch his phone in his hand, staring at the ceiling. He felt Mona shift as he stopped petting the cat, felt the feline bat at his chest a bit to get his attention. All it ever got out of Akira was a deep breath in, an even deeper sigh out.

He managed to smile at Mona as he picked him up and placed him on the floor, afterwards stepping over into his bedroom. All the while, the grin decorating his features was bittersweet, and he wondered when was the nearest time he could crash for more than a few hours straight.

It was.. somewhat cruel. But maybe he deserved that, at the least, for what he’d done.  
Akira still had a ways away to go in the _forgiving himself_ department, but he was getting there.

Still, all that would be temporarily forgotten as his eyes shifted over to his bed. Though it was dark, the red envelope was a stark contrast to the grey sheets it laid upon, easily spotted. Immediately, his apartment felt unsafe. Was it a trap? An ambush? If so, Mona would’ve been hissing at whatever room already. He was much too relaxed for an intruder to still be there.

But still, it unnerved Akira to know someone had broken into his home while he was out— which was both irony and hypocrisy in their finest.  
More than anything, it alarmed him, made his eyes dart around his own bedroom. When minutes had passed and nothing came out to attack him, he picked up the envelope, studied its exterior both front and back— nothing. It was the same, simple red all around.

But he felt something small and solid move around inside the envelope as he turned it this way and that. Opening the flap at the top, he’d pull out the cardstock from within, stared into its white and fuchsia face, at the black lines and the yellow eyes of the jester drawn onto the card. In bold, white letters at the bottom read “_Le Mat_”. 

Looking at the back of the card revealed nothing, and when he’d squinted to study the details, there weren’t any hidden messages or codes. It was, as it seemed, simply a tarot card pulled straight from its deck— and gifted to him.

Akira emptied the envelope onto his palm, felt the object slip from the paper and onto his hand. At first, he thought it might’ve been a tear of the envelope due to its near-identical colour with it— but when Akira gazed down upon the small thing, saw its shape (from the holes for eyes and the long, tapered nose) and the little rings attached to it from the top, he realised it was nothing more than a pendant, one that was in the shape of a mask.

He held it up to his face, studied it from different angles— and almost dropped it as he felt his phone vibrate from within his pocket, pulse jumpstarting, shoulders tensing up and hair on the back of his neck standing.

Breathing a sigh to himself, Akira would set the card and the pendant down upon his nightstand. He sat on the edge of his bed as he pressed the power button for his phone, ready to empty his notifications bar from _another _upload to Youtube.

But then two text messages stared back up at him, right underneath the big _’01:59_’ of his lockscreen. Was it a prank? Reality? A dream, perhaps?

Maybe, mayhaps. Whichever it was, Akira was certain of only one thing.

He hadn’t received a message from the username for just about over three months.

* * *

**pancakes (sent 01:59)  
im ready to talk. please meet me at the swings tomorrow, 4 pm. **

**pancakes (sent 02:00)  
happy new year's day, akira. i hope this is a good year for you.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gods of ao3 this is a reupload have mercy on my account 
> 
> anyway hello ! hi !! i'm eyrist and i'm an absolute clown that orphaned my old account where t h i s fic was so i had to reupload it here :^D 
> 
> ok but fr to anyone who's coming back to this hey im  
really sorry  
that it took me this long to update again hhhh school sucks ass 
> 
> thanks for sticking with m&m tho  
i really appreciate it 
> 
> as to everyone who's new, hello ! thanks for reading the fic too !! how's the ride going for ya so far lmao 
> 
> i gotta edit the notes back in at some point but it's like  
6 am  
and i want a nap  
skskssk
> 
> (edit: wanna hear a vocals-only sample of what akira's song sounds like ? earphone warning !!  
https://soundgasm.net/u/eyrist/akiras-song )
> 
> listen list !!  
mayten - amor  
liue - suffer with me (bass boosted + slowed)  
flower face - angela  
eden - 909


	24. Track 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> restart.

There was beauty in the first sunrise of the year, a warmth that seeped into his skin as he stood outside on the balcony with his face to the sky and his back to the rails. Though the early morning breeze chilled him even beneath the thick layers that wrapped around his frame, Goro found himself unable to move from his spot beside the watered plants and the quiet, comforting atmosphere.  
Maybe one could say he only stood frozen there because of the vibrant splashes of red, orange, and pink that painted the skies above him, the feel of the sun’s rays on his cheeks; though the way his eyes closed, brows just a bit tense as they furrowed by the slightest, would be argument otherwise.

He’d gotten _some_ sleep the hours previous, right after sending a certain man with dark hair and even darker eyes a text, actually— and though that wasn’t a lie, and his sleep wasn’t disturbed until his alarm rang at six in the morning, his dreams were fickle things that prodded at him, just ever so _slightly_.  
Dreams of Akira had stopped bothering him the way they used to for a few weeks at that point, but still, it was hard not to see them in a different light knowing that they’d be meeting in just a few hours. It was hard not to subconsciously toss and turn through the night, hard to keep his anxiety at bay when he fell into the realm of dreams. Though the images his mind presented to him were of pleasant times, there was a monster within his head that gave him scenarios, and those scenarios eventually turned to full scenes, and those scenes stuck to him as he jostled awake at the _beep_ of his alarm sounding off.

He had ways to deal with the dreams once he’d awakened, and after then, he’d usually forget about them. Goro, as he took in the early morning air, and the first sunrise of the year with eyes closed and lips pulled taut into a thin line across his features, still had flashes of lips pressed against his come to and fro within his mind’s eye.  
There were still glimpses of hands wandering where they shouldn’t (for a “friendship” such as theirs) and there were images of eyes that burned into his, and Goro could still remember how they looked as if a melting pot of worry and fear, could still recall lips that moved with such hesitance that it was almost _conspiratorial_. For months, he’d never had the smallest clue if these were fact or mere fiction his own imagination created— but with the details that overlapped with each other on some nights, or the consistency of each dream, he had a lingering hunch that maybe they were leaning onto his memories: Memories that maybe happened, in a hotel room at Odaiba.

Still, even with his suspicions, and the _anxieties_ that rooted fear within his very core, Goro was going to meet Akira. He was going to ask him for honest answers, explanations as clear as they would come— and, maybe _then_, he’d come to a conclusion.

But he shouldn’t think too much of that at an hour like seven in the morning. Though he was off work during the holidays and Ann was still in Yamaguchi, there were still things he wanted to do, chores that needed to be done and messages to reply to.

Goro waited for just a bit more then, on his fifth-floor apartment’s balcony. He passed his minutes still gazing up at the sky, watching as the sunrise’s brilliant reds and oranges faded into the pale blue of early morning, and after he decided he’d had his fill of chilly air after coffee and pancakes, he padded back within the living room.  
He’d told Ann about his decision as he ate breakfast in the quiet of the apartment earlier, texting with one hand as the other lifted a cup of coffee to his lips. Though he didn’t much expect a reply from her _this_ early in the day (she’d probably fallen back to the comforts of her bed with Shiho after watching the first dawn, same as he) it still didn’t hurt to check in his inbox for things that might’ve needed his attention— and maybe that was unnecessary, considering it was the holidays and most of the people he knew were busy enjoying the time away from work and everyday life. Still, there was a tug in his gut that told him to check his phone, a sort of feeling that said he missed _something_.

And so, dumping himself on the couch, he plucked his phone from the coffee table and clicked the screen to life.  
From above, on the notifications bar, sat a myriad of different icons from different apps. He recognised some as from YouTube, some from various social media platforms, some from the different time-killing games he downloaded over the past few days. His Twitter had but a single notification that awaited his attention— and he already knew it was probably Ann posting pictures of Yamaguchi with Shiho.

But when he’d actually checked it, and his eyes glimpsed at the first letter of the single word that formed _his_ username, Goro felt a pang of regret slap him in the face, his eyes widening and his lips forming a silent “_fuck._”  
The tweet was timed just twenty-five minutes past midnight, naught but a simple “_happy new year_” as its caption— which sat above an URL that linked to a YouTube video.

Goro pressed onwards, tapping on the link as he sank further into the cushions. He was apprehensive about this, but there was a curious voice within his head that asked “_was it intentional?_”  
If it _was_, what was it that Joker (_Akira_) uploaded just minutes after Goro’d finished that chapter in his life?

He wanted to know.

The first few notes that lilted into the quiet air of the living room were familiar to him, though they didn’t sound anything like the slow, droning melody he’d heard back in mid-September; Instead, they _bounced_, almost— like a song that floated among the air, echoing through the mostly-empty apartment. It made Goro feel light in the way that brought him peace, a little bit of happiness. Almost uplifted, even.

And then he heard Akira’s voice.  
His sweet baritone carried through even to his singing, and for a bit, Goro was brought back to the days when he could enjoy the man’s songs. He’d closed his eyes, let the music engulf his senses for just those few minutes— but he was still careful.

As he listened to the song, he’d try to dissect the words, see what messages were hidden beneath the layers. The lyrics, it seemed, were pretty straight forward.

Was it a reply to Goro? His own way of ending the previous year? Goro didn’t know, really couldn’t get the answer lest he asked Akira himself. He hadn’t even gotten a reply from the man about their meeting yet, nothing but a symbol beside his message that indicated it’d been read.

Goro, then, would only sigh as he re-opened his eyes— but as he did, he caught the name of the song, finally.

_from: akira_

* * *

It was almost unfair how quickly the day passed by. Though Goro told himself he was ready (had been chanting it in a mantra within his head for the entirety of his afternoon, actually) there was still a fear there, buried and squirming within his stomach. It wasn’t so much a fear of _Akira_, per se, it was a fear of.. _something_. The truth, maybe? The confrontation itself? What would happen afterwards? Goro vented it all to his journal just before he’d left home, boarded the train, and walked through Inokashira Park on the route his feet had memorised until he found himself at the playground.

Which was, where he sat then, an hour before he was even supposed to _be_ there. The air was cold and snow still littered the ground from the latest fall, with a single pair of footsteps among the blanket of white that led to the swings where they’d stopped at Goro’s feet. When Goro exhaled through his mouth, he’d find small puffs of clouds appear then disperse into the air. Maybe he should’ve worn a scarf before coming there.

His bag rested beside his legs, his journal spread open on his lap, and a pen was held in one hand. He’d flipped the pages until he reached the back, where Goro sometimes stress-doodled and drew random little things: It could’ve been a little face, or wonky stars, constellations, some music notes littered the corners and more than one pair of glasses were scribbled here and there.  
Mostly though, it was full of crude, zig-zagging lines from the times he was too stressed and too tired and/or too angry (at himself) to dance it out, some that even tore through the paper in his frustration— but along with those, were circles that formed long, slithering vortexes from the times he was either bored, spacing out, or needed to look like he was busy.

It was a mess in the back of his journal, but it served its purpose well. Tachibana had even told him once that his doodles could’ve been journal entries in and of themselves, telling the story of his emotional rollercoasters with each drawing he made.

Well, he’d already filled about two pages with his rambles about meeting Akira that day, so Goro decided to spill the leftover stress through doodling.  
First, he’d doodled a little hill in the corner of a fresh page, with snow covering the top. Next, _another_ pair of glasses (he’d gotten better at drawing Junji’s glasses from memory, at least.) Then, a little cat face, the emoji Ann always used, a multitude of pancakes with tiny dots for blueberries on top, a few music notes around the page, then—

His phone buzzed.

It really _was_ unfair how quickly time passed.  
When Goro’d stored the journal and pen back within the messenger bag beside his feet, the first thing he did after taking out his phone was to check how many minutes had passed— But mere _minutes_, hadn’t passed, oh _no_. That would’ve been too _easy_ for Goro, and he’d concluded that whatever gods were up there must’ve loved seeing him suffer.

Because just about an hour had already ticked by him as he sat there, naught but black gloves on his hands and a black coat above his sweater-vest to protect himself from the lingering Winter. Additionally, that second buzz wasn’t an alarm he forgot to turn off— it was a text.

There weren’t any words there on the latest message upon his and Akira’s chat log, though; Instead, there was a file. An mp3. A _song_.

* * *

**Akira Kurusu (sent 15:57)  
(Akira Kurusu sent _to_goro.mp3_.) **

* * *

Goro sucked in a breath as he tapped on the file. There was still a hesitation within him as he stared down at the downloaded song on his phone, thumb just _above_ the play button. His brows had furrowed the longer he looked at it, the more that fear rattled within his stomach like a feral beast trapped within a cage. It wasn’t so much of _he was afraid of Akira_; it was maybe more along the lines of being afraid at the uncertainty of if he’d _really_ managed to fix the co-dependency rooted within his mind and his actions— he knew a complete recovery wasn’t possible in such a short amount of time, but all he needed for that _moment_ was at least a detachment.. something that was enough to make him stand independently and stop choosing things that would please _Akira_, not _himself_.  
Because he was only _there_ (had really only reached out to the man) for closure, for him to be able to make _some _sort of peace with both his mind and the man who’d stolen his heart in a too-unfair way. Goro had taken the first few steps he could to do things for _himself_, for once in his life.

He glanced towards the name of the file once more: _to goro_. It might’ve meant this was all of what Akira had to say to him.  
The time on the corner of his screen read, ’_16:04_.’ It might’ve meant he was a no-show.  
Goro looked around the desolated playground. Not a soul in sight.

Another puff of air dissipated before him as he sighed, and the too-familiar baritone of Akira’s voice filled the cold, quiet space around him.

“_Sunshine City, silhouettes in the dark_”

The flash of the universe above them, the stars he’d gazed up at. Goro could only remember it as the time they’d _tried_ to keep things going. Memories of the day flooded back into his mind as he listened to Akira’s singing.

“_Couldn’t find the words to say to keep our worlds from falling apart” _

There were too many times that happened. It still stung, sometimes, remembering how Akira would deliberately avoid answering him straight.

“_And maybe someday we’ll find each other in our paradises— if it ain’t with me, then I won’t keep you from happiness_”

The sound of snow crunching reached his ears as he stared down at his phone, eyes trained on none else but the bar that inched forward as each second of the song passed.

“_There are some things that can’t be undone— and I fucked up, I know, but I’m not asking that you move on_”

A tall silhouette, clad in a brown coat, reached his peripheral— just above his eyes. He stood a ways away, but Goro knew he was there.

“_But I want to say I know I’ve hurt you in too many different ways, so can I have this last chance— just to tell you—_”

It approached him, veering to the side to sit on the vacant swing beside Goro. The _creak _of the metal chains did little to disturb him as the song stopped, right after the final line. He heard a breath, a sigh into the air before Akira spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

When Goro let himself glance over to the man, he saw Akira’s eyes to the ground, the fingertips of his hands almost red from the lack of gloves, and his hair, a mess of curls that fluffed up and served as a stark contrast against the bright white of snow. His shoulders slumped forwards, his lips settled into a small frown on his cheeks— but most of all, he saw just a glimpse of the remorse in those dark eyes, unhidden by fake glasses that weren’t there. Even as Goro would turn to face him, Akira’s gaze stayed on the snow beneath their feet.

“I lied. About a lot of things.” Their stares met, if only for a millisecond. “And I’ve been misleading you.”

He could see Akira fumbling with his hands, fingers scratching his palms though he kept them open.

“I hurt you. I know I’ve been vague with a lot of things, and if you called me out here just to take your anger out on me, I’m not going to fight back. Just..”

And then, slowly, he’d stop. Akira’s stare bore into his hands now, and his brows furrowed. Naught but silence hung in the cold air between them for a few seconds, and in that time, all Goro could do was keep his face neutral as he watched Akira, waited for him to continue.

When he’d begun speaking again, Akira’s eyes had looked up to Goro’s, gazes locking, breath hitching in Goro’s throat for just a _second _seeing the regret, the _remorse_, and ultimately, the sincere _melancholy_ present in the steely black of his irises.

“I’m sorry. For everything. For every time I hurt you, and lied to you.. For being dishonest about a lot of things and all that I did to you. I know an explanation isn’t an excuse, but I want you to know why I did the things I did, and why I’m most likely going to keep being vague for a few more months— if you’ll let me tell you, I’ll say everything I can for now.”

Silence.

Akira looked to Goro as if he was pleading, his eyes alone cautiously begging for that _chance_ to be heard. He’d turned his body to the brunette, gaze bearing a heaviness in the way that told of the importance this held to him— a type of desperation that, maybe, was something _life-changing_.

There were seconds that passed by in which he only searched Akira’s stare, silently scrutinising the inky black of his irises. He looked for a deception, a single sign that this was all a farce— instead of a cunning, of a conniving scheme well-hidden beneath layers of faux-remorse, all Goro found was _sincerity_. Desperation, even.

Mutely, he would bob his head in a slow nod, tone low and cautious.

“Fine. What was the point in all of it?”

Akira didn’t break his stare.

“To keep you safe.”

Goro’s brows furrowed, confusion blooming within his mind. He expected something _typical_, like a saviour complex or a two-timing tango he’d gotten caught up in, but not something so vague like “_keeping you safe_.” He frowned at Akira, glaring, voice on the edge of vitriol.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

But there was nothing but _honesty_. _Fear_. They mixed within the dark abyss of Akira’s irises as he answered, voice but a murmur, “I can’t go into detail about what I do or who the people involved are, because there are too many risks I can’t take right now— but I’m a _criminal_. And if I ever slip up just _one_ time, I’d be putting everyone I know and care about in danger.”

Akira shook his head.

“I don’t expect you to believe me, but it’s the truth.”

“And how can I?” Goro would counter, tone sharp, “Do you really think I’m going to believe that? That you’re living some secret double-life? That you led me on and lied to me and fucking _broke my heart_ over an even _bigger_ lie? I’m not buying into your bullshit anymore, Akira. I hoped you realised that already when I punched you.”

_Fucking hypocrite_. 

Goro decided to shut up the voice in the back of his head. He didn't need that right now. 

But Akira simply shook his head once more, lips set in a too-tight line across his features, something like anxiety and determination now occupying where desperation was. He slipped one arm out of the coat (_Goro’s coat_) he wore and pulled up the sleeve of his sweater, all the while keeping eye contact with Goro.

When his eyes slid over to the skin revealed, what he saw was a dark patch stretching across Akira’s pale arm, an overlap of skin on skin across a line on his bicep. Goro (almost too-easily) recognised it as a scar.

He returned Akira’s stare as the man spoke once more, his own expression steeled into neutrality from the harsh glare they’d been set in— albeit Goro’s lips were set into a tight line, his brows furrowed, by just the tiniest bit, as he listened.

“I lied about the scar on my thigh. It wasn’t from an accident when I was a kid, it was from being stabbed two years ago. _This_”—he glanced at his arm, lips tugging into a frown—“was from September. A bullet grazed my arm.”

And then, Akira slipped one hand into his pocket, produced his phone, and with a few taps, Goro heard his own voice emanate from the device. A low mumble, filled with hesitance and anxiety. He could recall the night with an almost-perfect clarity— because it was when he’d began to doubt Akira.

_“You’re right. What we do.. It’s not what **just friends** do, is it?” _

_“Goro.. It really **isn’t**, y’know? Even if you guys were just close, touchy friends, you can’t say it’s what just friends do anymore. You need to know where you stand with him now, because if you don’t, I **know** you’re going to start expecting more from him. You’re going to do that thing where you trick yourself into believing that you’re in an established relationship again and you self-sabotage your own happiness. If this is going to continue, you need to find out why he’s even doing this in the first place. You need to know if this is just a game to him or not. I don’t want you having another repeat of what happened last time.” _

_“I just like Akira so **much**, Ann..”_

Goro.. wasn’t quite sure what he felt as he listened to the recording. He wasn’t sure what his expression spelled. _Horrified_, maybe? _Anger_? Pure _rage_? His and Ann’s privacy had been violated, yet his shock hadn’t stemmed from _just_ that. A million and one thoughts sprung up within his head, “_why’s_” and “_what’s_” swirling around, some “_how’s_”, a few “_when’s_”— but in the end, there was one question in particular that stood out to him: “_Is this real?_”

“My phone is always bugged, for my own safety. It only stops recording when I turn it off, but my navigator gets all the feedback.”

His doubt (or maybe, willful ignorance) was rattled. He wasn’t as sure in himself that what Akira had told him were mere lies.

All he knew was that his stare bore into Akira’s own, as the man himself looked down to the screen of his phone. Akira’s demeanour was easy to read, then: Something like regret and melancholy in one as his lips settled into a sad frown and his eyes had lowered in shame.

Their gazes met.

_Honesty. _

_Fear._

“But I _swear_ to you that I never meant to know all of this before you wanted to tell me. I swear on my _word_ that I never wanted to breach your and Ann’s privacy. I wanted to come clean to you about this ever since I received the file, but I didn’t know _how_ without telling you about me doing less-than-legal things.”

“Then tell me _this_..” Goro’s hands had joined together, gripping each other maybe too-tightly, the leather of his gloves stretching. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth, his gaze hardened, brows slanted down. “What was the only honest thing you said to me?”

“That I care about you. _Too much_. That I feel the same things you felt for me but I just can’t _risk_ it when I know you can still be caught in the crossfire.” Akira looked down upon his palms. “That I want you to be happy, just as long as you’re _safe_. I lied about a lot of things, and I know it’s hard to trust me, but I _never_ meant to hurt you. I never meant to lead you on, knowing that you’ve been through Hell. I’m sorry.”

“Why did you do it, though?” Goro’s voice had quieted down, though retained the sharp (anxiety-induced) edge, “Why keep being so affectionate? Why keep touching me the way you did when you _knew_?”

Akira fumbled with his hands again, scratching at his palm. One corner of his lip quirked up in a small smile (almost self-pityingly) as he glanced up at Goro, before it’d dropped back into a frown spelling of guilt.

“Because I’m selfish. I wanted you to be mine when I know I told you that you were just a friend to me.” He sighed. “I wanted to love you without putting you in danger. All it ended up doing was”—he gestured to the both of them vaguely—“well, _this_.”

His hands fell back onto his lap, shrugging once before his shoulders slumped forwards.

“Fucked it all up big time. You probably wouldn’t be hurt this much if you never met me, to be honest.”

Goro averted his eyes, looking towards the sky.

“I’ve been hurt worse before,” he replied lowly, matter-of-factly.

“And if Odaiba never happened?”

A beat of silence. Then two. His fingers circled one of the chains that held his swing up, and Goro could only sigh.

“Then I probably would’ve been hurt worse by you somewhere down the line.”

A moment passed (or maybe five) wherein they simply sat in silence, amongst the cold air and the almost-peaceful atmosphere between them— _almost_, because there was a tension in Goro’s jaw as he lined the words in his mind, picked out what he wanted to say and what he _needed_ Akira to hear.

Even as he did that, he was still trying to process everything that the man had told him: his reasons, his apologies, explanations. A criminal double-life? The wounds on his body? The recording? It was far too much to take in all at once.

But still, he decided that he’d try— and if Goro was going to give Akira that chance, then all he’ll ask is for Akira to hear _his_ story out.

“I’ve been going to therapy,” he began slowly, eyes never leaving the twilight, “And it’s been insightful to me.”

There was the sound of fabric rustling as Akira slid back into the brown coat, and all Goro could do was to glance at the article that was once _his_— which probably smelled of that fabric softener and coffee scent that always stuck to Akira. He looked down at the black coat _he_ wore, noted the whiffs of peppermint and vanilla.

“I never stopped you from the hugs, or the times we slept in one bed, or really set my boundaries from the get-go, so I can admit I can take _some_ of the blame for what happened— but I’ve told you that I was in bad relationships before, remember? You met Asahi, and you know what Ann said.

“I think the reason I didn’t stop you was because I _needed_ the affection, after all the abuse I lived through. I needed you to keep giving me that affection, and I would’ve done anything just to keep you happy and _with_ me. I was relying on you but to the point that it became unhealthy and I was basing most of my decisions off of if it would please you.”

Goro would turn to Akira then, who (from the corner of his eye) had been nodding along quietly as he spoke.

“I thought a lot about it for the past few weeks, and I think that’s what went wrong with us, besides what you did. I was dependent on you and I wasn’t thinking for myself— like I wasn’t really a _person_ as much as I was a _people-pleaser_. In a way, I enabled everything we did.”

A sigh. An almost-too hopeful look in his eyes. Goro tried to keep it under wraps, because hope was a much too scary thing.

“It’s hard to forget everything that happened. What you did, how you acted, as well as what _I_ did and how _I_ acted.. I can’t say I’ll really forgive you completely for the past year, but I’m willing to try.”

Akira would simply nod once, slanted, ever-catlike eyes peering curiously at him. Goro found that he, too, harboured just the tiniest sliver of hope in those obsidian eyes.

“That’s good enough for me.”

“But..”

Goro drew in a breath, if only in an attempt to steady the beat of his heart.

“If you’re really honest about everything you told me today— If all of what you say is _real_, then I think I wouldn’t mind starting all over again.”

But then Akira flinched back, so minimally Goro wouldn’t have noticed it if he weren’t looking at him. He’d recoiled, and before speaking once more, Akira pursed his lips into a line across his cheeks.

“I want to— out of anything else, I really _want_ to try again, but I still haven’t finished what I need to do. I’ll only keep being how I was last year.”

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself here,” Goro would retort, a sardonic smile on his cheeks, “I meant as friends. No relationship undertones, none of last year’s affection. _Friends_— The normal kind, where they don’t fall asleep on each other and make everyone they know think they’re together.”

Akira would do nothing but stare at him then, his eyes widened by just a _bit_ and his jaw slack, lips parted. He looked at Goro as if he’d grown a second head, shock present in his gaze.

Mutely, the man’s lips had begun moving, though no words came through. He’d mouthed syllables, the beginning of sentences maybe, but as Goro did naught but watch him (with, perhaps, a too-smug smile on his cheeks) Akira was _speechless_.

Goro didn’t miss the hint of red on those cheeks either— a flush that wasn’t _as_ bright earlier, given the chill of winter; nor was it from the light of the sun’s rays as dusk set upon them, the sky above their heads a canvas of purples, oranges, and pinks.

“O.. _Okay_—” Akira made to cough into his fist, shaking his head just momentarily. “_Friends_. We can do that.”

“Before that, though. Can I ask about the recording of..?”

“Oh, _no_, don’t worry. I told my navigator to stop recording conversations if it isn’t part of our job.”

Goro eyed the man’s phone then, his gaze sceptical.

“Every single copy of it is gone, except for on my phone— Y’know what, just— _Here_.”

Akira scooted to the edge of his swing, leaning towards Goro and angling his phone. He showed the brunette the entire process as he deleted the recording, scrolled through his other files for copies he may have missed, and after that was done with, would look to Goro with a look in his eyes that asked, _“Are you comfortable now?_”

And Goro would nod, but not before edging away so their faces weren’t inches apart. He wasn’t going to start _that _again.

“Thank you,” the brunette breathed, watched as another cloud of air dispersed before his lips.

But then his eyes caught the vibrant hues of the sun as it descended onto the horizon. He’d watch, almost entranced, as the reds and purples spread like paints across the clouds, as the light bathed the snow beneath their feet in a warm orange, truly felt that this was the first day of a new year— of, perhaps, a _better_ year.

“Hey..”

Goro would look back to see dark eyes (that shined, almost as if obsidian gems) gazing at him. The colours of the sunset bounced off of those impossibly-black eyes as they bore into Goro’s own, even despite the distance between them now, as they sat on their swings.

“I’m Akira Kurusu. It’s nice to meet you.”

Perhaps, it wasn’t only the colours that his eyes absorbed— maybe they took all the warmth of the sun, too.

“Goro Akechi. It’s a pleasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhh it's midnight and i tried my best w this chapter hhhhhh  
why is this so hard to write lmao 
> 
> sorry this week's update is a lil bit shorter than usual tho y'all  
also what is quality writing anymore idk who tf she is 
> 
> listen list  
joji - slow dancing in the dark (cello cover by nicholas yee)  
flower face - angela  
the neighbourhood - daddy issues


	25. Track 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> take two.

**usain bolt (sent 11:20)  
man i miss u guys **

**DAVID ICKE WAS RIGHT (sent 11:20)  
you could probably run from there to here in like  
2 mins tops **

**usain bolt (sent 11:21)  
and leave my mom?? no thnx **

**usain bolt (sent 11:21)  
we’re coming back to tokyo in a few days anw **

**hinata shouYOOOOO (sent 11:22)  
me and ann too!! :o **

**hinata shouYOOOOO (sent 11:22)  
around jan 12 **

**feral and thicc (sent 11:22)  
To be honest, having the apartment to myself has been great. Feel free to extend your vacation.  
(feral and thicc sent a sticker.) **

**hinata shouYOOOOO (sent 11:23)  
we should meet up and hang out again bc dear sweet puppy ryuji misses us **

**hinata shouYOOOOO (sent 11:23)  
o shut up ik your ass misses us too >:( **

**usain bolt (sent 11:23)  
i never said tht **

**hinata shouYOOOOO (sent 11:23)  
(hinata shouYOOOOO sent a screenshot.) **

**get ur sparkle on BITCH (sent 11:24)  
okay but we rlly should though. **

**get ur sparkle on BITCH (sent 11:24)  
like I love my parents and Shiho and all but a gal can only see so much parent pda even WITH her own SO. **

**get ur sparkle on BITCH (sent 11:24)  
I need dumbasses to be a dumbass with again ya feel **

**feral and thicc (sent 11:24)  
Ann, I don’t know if I want to be there when that happens. **

**get ur sparkle on BITCH (sent 11:24)  
TOO LATE I ALREADY HAVE PLANS FOR YOU. **

**DAVID ICKE WAS RIGHT (sent 11:25)  
we have more than enough dumbassery going on here i s2g **

**usain bolt (sent 11:25)  
wat happened **

**DAVID ICKE WAS RIGHT (sent 11:25)  
a whole ass akira kurusu callout post **

**DAVID ICKE WAS RIGHT (sent 11:25)  
I HOPE YOU SEE THIS WHEN YOU WAKE UP  
jack of all trades-looking mf **

**dj (dumb jackass) (sent 11:27)  
:( **

**dj (dumb jackass) (sent 11:27)  
thanks sis ly 2 **

**dj (dumb jackass) (sent 11:28)  
ryuji’s my only bro here **

**usain bolt (sent 11:28)  
got ur back man dw **

**usain bolt (sent 11:28)  
ok but srsly wth happpened **

**DAVID ICKE WAS RIGHT (sent 11:29)  
ryuji **

**usain bolt (sent 11:29)  
???**

**DAVID ICKE WAS RIGHT (sent 11:29)  
just let akira fill you in about it **

**usain bolt (sent 11:30)  
???????  
bro **

**DAVID ICKE WAS RIGHT (sent 11:31)  
>:( **

**usain bolt (sent 11:33)  
dude?????**

**usain bolt (sent 11:34)  
he’s offline **

* * *

January.

It was made apparent then, what happened— well, at least Ryuji could somewhat pick up on the hints.

All he knew was that on the 12th, they were all at Café Leblanc. Shiho’s and Ann’s fingers were intertwined atop the table, Futaba was fitted into place beside Yusuke as she snuggled up to the artist, and he himself was wedged between a quiet (almost eerily so) Akechi and an Akira that was talking _way_ too much for it to be normal.  
Sure, talking about how their respective vacations went was sure to evoke _some_ chatter amongst their group after the period away from each other, but Akechi was usually the oversharing one and his best friend was usually the _chiming in from time to time_ one.

Ryuji wouldn’t have found it weird, not if the eye contact they shared didn’t look _way_ too strained.

So he was just a _little_ uncomfortable here.

“Mornin’s there were perfect for some joggin’,” he’d say, casting a quick glance to Akira as the topic of things they did settled on the conversation. What Ryuji didn’t quite expect was the sound of Akechi’s voice lilting into the air, the first time in half an hour.

“I can imagine. There was a little snow here during the last few days of the holidays, so I couldn’t go on my morning cycle.”

“It was _that_ bad?” Akira would suddenly blurt, and Ryuji couldn’t help but catch the underlying urgency in his best friend’s voice. It was strange to him, to say the least.

There was just a beat of silence around their booth, then, and Ryuji would flick his eyes over to the brunette on his left.  
Said brunette had just neutrally looked at Akira before picking up his half-full cup of coffee.

“No.” He took a sip, eyes on the leftovers of his bittersweet drink. “The cold stopped me.”

“Oh.”

And then, complete and utter _silence_.  
But it wasn’t just any, old quiet (not the kind of quiet you’d hear around people who were comfortable around each other, no.) Instead, what weighed the air was a tension, something as subtle as a hammer to the teeth.

Ryuji would notice his friends’ eyes darting to and fro between Akira and Akechi, could feel the mutual uncomfortableness seep into his own skin: Ann and Shiho looked like there were vines of concern clawing up from within their stomachs, Futaba looked ready to call the cops, and Yusuke just about felt like he was ready to restrain anyone if the situation called for it— if not by the way his brows tensed, then by the way he’d scooted just ever so _slightly _towards the outer edge of the booth.  
It made Ryuji’s lips purse and his arms press as tight as they could onto his sides— like they were retreating from a potential mess that was bound to erupt between the DJ and the dancer.

So he _kind of_ had a gist of what was happening. At least it was better than the disaster that was September to November.

But was it _really_?

Ryuji’s eyes slid over to Akira, giving him a small nudge with his elbow and a look that asked if he was doing good. In return, he got an easy smile— one that didn’t reach the onyx irises framed beneath his glasses.  
And it was such an Akira thing to do. It was such a signature move his best friend would (of _course_) pull. He was never the type to let his friends worry about his wellbeing, and though Ryuji was sure he was doing it for all of their sakes, it would never really cease to nip away at his mind what kind of shit his friend was going through, what kind of storm was brewing within the other man’s head.. What kind of pressure constricted around his body (his _heart_) like a boa wrapped around its prey.

And judging by the mere atmosphere of their booth alone, it must’ve been a _hell_ of a lot worse for not only Akira, but for Akechi as well.

Now, Ryuji could admit that he didn’t possess the quickest of wits out there, but when it came to reading his friends, he was confident that he could at _least_ pick up on some signals here and there: Know with a certain level of assuredness what the mood was, what steps should be taken, what things to say.. And, even despite recounting the events of the meetup he, Ann, and Futaba had arranged, he still wanted to push forward. He wanted to be there for his friend, as Akira was always there for _them_.

If it meant attempting to smooth out the wrinkles of what happened between Akira and Akechi, then so be it.

“At least y’weren’t spillin’ coffee n’ shit all over the café— Me n’ Futaba helped man the deck over here a lil’ over the holidays ‘cause there were _so **many** people_ that came last month.”

At that, Futaba perked up from her spot, hands still around Yusuke’s arm as she retorted.

“Hey, at least _I_ managed to get them to the tables, Ryuji!”

“You spilled curry all over me!”

“That was—! That was _one_ time!”

Ryuji rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, plus _five_..” he muttered, gaze sliding to the side.

He could see Akechi, then, and felt a little spark of hope bloom within his chest seeing the brunette trying (and oh so horribly _failing_) to hide a small smile and _maybe_ a laugh as he sat there. Shifting his stare over to the left, Akira’s head had been turned to face the bar— but Ryuji could see that he was snickering, if only by the way his shoulders rose and fell in quick succession.

Okay, this was good. He got the ball rolling.

And he didn’t even realise what ripples he’d made in the water.

* * *

February soon arrived— and with it, of course, _Valentine’s day_. To say Ann wasn’t excited was the understatement of the _century_ in and of itself: She had the day to shower Shiho with all her love and affection, after all.

But _ah_, even though having her lovely girlfriend all to herself the entire day was great, she couldn’t _not_ want to help Futaba with her date anxieties— and that was why she, Shiho, Futaba, and Yusuke planned a double date around town. It was going to be _good_ and they could get to gush over the youngest of their little squad fumble through that which is called _a relationship_, aside from giving them date ideas and nice spots to spend time together at.

But Ann wasn’t expecting to find Akira and Ryuji at the diner.

And she definitely didn’t expect to see Goro at the bookstore near said diner.

And it was probably the most romcom thing she’d ever had the honour to witness, when _date group_ found _couldn’t find a date group _at Gigolo.

Ever since her and Goro’s talk on early November, Ann had tried to not be as invasive as before. With little pointers and help from her best friend, she’d come to lay off his business when it didn’t concern her, or when he hadn’t spoken to her about it— but _damn_ if fate had a way to push him and Akira closer and closer together anyway. It was almost funny, how it had a habit of doing that.

But there was an uncomfortableness just _radiating_ from Goro as they circled the arcade that day. Ann could spot the exact _millisecond_ his eyes widened, when the recognition exploded across his face seeing a mess of curly, black hair in front of the Gun About machine. She could see the way he hesitated at the front door, one foot behind himself almost as if he were considering his silent getaway— and maybe, if Ryuji hadn’t turned his head from playing against Akira before waving at him, Goro would’ve done just that.  
She saw the stiffness in his arms as he strode closer to them, heard the small—barely there—stutter in his greeting as Yusuke said his “_hello_.” Could almost feel the tension that tightened the muscles of his neck as Akira, for just a split second, glanced over to the newcomer.

Ann was tempted to ask if he wanted to be secluded from the man via one of the karaoke booths in the arcade.

But fate surprised her yet again.

“Save me a round.”

Or maybe, it was just her best friend that did that.

She couldn’t quite say that she saw a _drastic_ change in Goro’s behaviour throughout the weeks they’d been together once more— Sure, he was still the confident _beast_ he was on the dancefloor (both for classes and otherwise) but she’d also noticed an assuredness he had in himself now.  
It was subtle, she could tell, but Goro didn’t seem as tense as he usually was. Whenever he’d return from his therapy sessions, she could see the way he strode just a bit lighter, breathed just a little bit easier. There were days when he looked worse for wear, but she was proud of him for bouncing right back either way.

But now, there was an aggressiveness to him— she bet that anyone could tell.  
The past few weeks back in Tokyo, she was _sure_ she wasn’t alone in seeing how Goro and Akira mostly skirted around talking to each other, ten times out of ten having short (and _short_ was a definite understatement) conversations before focusing on the rest of the group, when they became _much_ more talkative. She figured it was for the best she’d leave them alone, but there were just some moments she wished she could step right in and have them talk to each other.

She flinched to herself, inwardly seething.

_Yeah, because the last time went **splendidly**. _

But here he was— here _Goro Akechi _was, challenging Akira to a round of Gun About himself. She didn’t know whether to be proud or scared but Goro had already come to stand where Ryuji once was, gun controller held in his hand.

When they’d entered their tokens and the round began, she figured she’d have to apologise to her girlfriend for the _death grip_ she held her arm with.

“Doing okay?” Shiho would mumble to her, and turning her head, Ann could see the concern that bounced off the lights reflected in her glassy, black eyes. She tried to offer a reassuring smile, though it fell flat when she heard the in-game gunshots echo amongst them.

They were playing 1v1, she realised— and that only made her hiss again, lowly and quietly.

“I’m a little scared for Goro right now,” she’d admit, pressing her side closer to Shiho’s. It was a little habit she had, and she was glad Shiho’d returned the comforting pressure as she hummed.

“He looks.. actually _super_ angry right now.”

“_Right_?”

That had to be another understatement. Goro looked absolutely _furious_.  
His lips had been sculpted into a scowl, his brows furrowed down. Though she’d usually brush it off as concentration, there was a fire lit in those wine-red eyes— actually, fuck _lit_, there was a whole goddamn _blaze_ burning behind those irises.

It seemed to burn more ferociously with each shot he fired off, his character taking cover behind a barricade from _Akira’s_ character.

Ann was afraid he’d reduce everything to ashes, but also..

“He might just need it, though..”

She could feel Shiho’s questioning gaze linger on her.

“What do you mean, sugar?”

“I mean like—” Ann gestured to the two of them with one hand. “He might need it? To get rid of some pent-up anger?”

A hum, one she could feel against her shoulder.

“Eight months of stressing over Akira and then another two months patching things up with himself, huh?”

Ann gave her a nod.

“Yeah..”

Another shot. Goro took some damage.

“_Oooh_, he’s not gonna like that,” Futaba would comment, now on Ann’s free side. Just a few steps away, the blonde could spot Yusuke immersed in a motorcycle game.

“I bet you 1000 yen Akira’s going to survive this.”

“I don’t know, Futaba, he’s got a _lotta_ rage right now..” Shiho shrugged.

_BANG _

A shot to the chest on Akira’s character, depleting his health to just a bit less than half. Ann could feel Shiho grin against her shoulder.

“I’ll take that bet.”

It was a back and forth between shooting, and taking cover during their fight. Sometimes they’d move to a different vantage point, to which, the other would follow. Akira seemed hot on Goro’s trail as they traversed the map, switching guns, finding new spots— at one point, Goro had gotten hold on a sniper rifle, and Ann couldn’t for the life of her figure out where the _Hell_ he even found that in Gun About.

It was like a conversation as they shot at each other.

Their health bars were always just about equal, even despite the tactical shots Goro took, a lot being _headshots_. Akira was good at hitting his target, seemed composed even if he was visibly perturbed.  
They could see the way the DJ’s brows furrowed, lips turned down in concentration. He didn’t look like he was in a panic, but as their health crept ever closer to zero, there was a certain _hardness_ in his stare, his jaw tensed.

Shots became less and less frequent, fewer and farther in-between as the two kept in mind their health— close to 10% for Goro, and 15% for Akira. They all knew the round was almost over, but the scales were tipped in both their favours: Goro had the better gun with more bullets to his name, but Akira had more health.

There was a moment in which it was almost _quiet_ amongst them, as the shooting came to a pause. Both of them were hiding behind their barriers, waiting for who wanted to make the first (and _most crucial_) move.

Ann kept her eyes on the screen, anticipation pulling at her limbs— or maybe it was just Shiho, who had _her_ death grip on her girlfriend now. Yusuke had joined them just minutes earlier, and was now studying the two with much interest glazing his eyes, almost as if he were inspecting the very air and nature of competition unfold before him. Ryuji joined in on the bet, Akira’s side; and to keep things even, Ann had joined, too. Goro’s side, of course.

Time seemed to slow as Ann caught sight of Akira moving to a nearby cover, one that exposed a part of Goro’s character before immediately moving to take aim. A gasp pulled from her lips as Goro responded without a moment’s hesitance, aimed, breathed in and out almost at slow motion before—

_BANG _

Red flashed on the right screen. A stunned silence befell their group as the ‘_GAME OVER_’ screen lit up, not a single one of them taking their eyes off the monitor— all until Futaba erupted with a prolonged _“NO!”_ and Ryuji let out a groan. Ann could only stand and stare, watch as her best friend lowered his controller gun slowly, breathed in, and spared Akira a quick glance.

There was something that almost resembled a smirk playing on Goro’s lips, and all Akira could do, as it seemed, was release a breath and nod towards him. Amidst the noise of the arcade, Ann could only try to read the words that formed on the DJ’s lips, something maybe like “_Good game_” passed between them.

Goro would only nod back, sling his controller back into place, and walk back towards herself and Shiho.

And it was maybe then that Ann remembered how to _breathe_. Looking towards Shiho, the woman had a grin stretching across her cheeks as she’d approached Futaba and Ryuji, ready to collect that sweet, sweet bet money.

“What _was_ that?” was all Ann could blurt, as soon as Goro had entered hearing range.

“_That_,” he’d begun, a satisfied smile playing on his lips and a bounce in his step, “was deep, pure, unfiltered, and uncut _rage_.”

Later, when she’d gotten back to the apartment after their double date, Goro would tell her it was the best alternative to giving Akira a black eye and a busted nose.

* * *

March.

March brought her a surprise she didn’t even know if she wanted the context of.

“Hey, Akira, where’d you keep y— What are you doing?”

Okay, she knew her brother could be a slob at times, but this was on a whole other level!

“.. What the fuck?”

The more she ran her eyes over the shirts and shorts and pants and socks scattered around the floor and bed and.. _every_ surface of Akira’s bedroom, the worse it got. Futaba didn’t know if the box sitting beside the opened closet had anything to do with this _mess_ but she wasn’t sure at this point if she even wanted to know.

“Yo, where _are _you?” she’d call out— and like fucking 17-year-old Akira, Akira came out of the goddamn closet.

Futaba would only give him a _look_: one that asked all the questions in the world while simultaneously looking baffled and lost.

“Are we not on the same channel here? What”—she gestured towards the mess with her half-full glass of water—“the _fuck_?”

A part of her wanted to know what was going on; The other wanted to walk out and come looking for his spare headphones a few hours later after the literal and metaphorical storm had passed.

“Oh, I was just uh..” Akira rubbed the back of his neck, a corner of his lips quirking up into a lopsided smile, “Cleaning out. Goro was asking for his clothes back, so..”

“Uh-huh..”

Futaba ran her eyes over the clothes once more, setting her glass down on the man’s nightstand as she parked ass on his bed. She looked over the shirts and pants folded beside the pillows, doing a mental count of the piles that were stacked.

“Damn, you guys really _did_ switch closets, didn’t you?”

A cough, almost uncomfortable. In a second, her gaze was on Akira again as he sifted through the remaining shirts hanging within his closet.

“Well, that’s what happens when you spend a lot of time in someone’s place and vice versa, I guess.”

He took out a side-less black tanktop, looked down on it almost regretfully as he took it off the hanger and began folding it up.

“You leave parts of yourself in the other person’s hands and they do the same to you.”

She could only purse her lips into a line as she watched her brother. Coughing once to herself, she looked from the box, to the folded-up clothes, and back to the box.

“Do you want some help with this?” Futaba would offer, moving to pad over to the cardboard. Akira knew she wasn’t just referring to the clothes.  
Giving him a glance, she’d catch the way he’d bob his head into a single nod before dragging the box over to his bed.

One by one, she’d load the clothes into the box— could only be glad she had her back to Akira lest she saw the tinges of hurt that betrayed him through his eyes as they continued their work.

“I wanted to get this done before the heist tonight,” Akira would admit after a few, silent minutes, “Just so I wouldn’t have to look through my closet to find my suit again.”

Well, that was a blatant lie. If there was anyone in the world who could definitively call him out on his bullshit better than anyone, it was Futaba. Nevertheless, she would only hum in faux-agreement and nod.

“You’re still that hungover what happened, huh?” It wasn’t a question so much as it was a statement. “How are you guys doing right _now_, though?”

There was a pause, and Futaba could just _see_ him doing that non-conversational shrug he always did. When naught but more silence followed after two, three beats, Futaba was almost tempted to look over her shoulder and see how he was doing— when Akira spoke up.

“We’re not really back to square one, but we’re starting to talk again, at least.”

Again, a pause. She was sure Akira filled it with another shrug.

“It’s just.. conversations are few and far in-between.”

“That so, huh?” Futaba could only give him a sympathetic smile. “Well, they’re small steps, but steps anyway. I’m glad you two aren’t just straight _ignoring each other_ now.”

An awkward laugh flitted through the air, something like a self-pitying and self-deprecating. Futaba was about to apologise, but Akira beat her to the punch.

“Me too, honestly. I apologised, apologised for you, and now it’s just— all behind us. I know I’m probably the last person who should be saying this, but we had to _really _talk about it like adults, and now.. Well, here we are.”

Another laugh.

“Water under the bridge— except the bridge got demolished and set on fire, so we have to build a new one. But we’re doing it.”

And Futaba could only stare at him, then, almost dubiously. She’d have pegged him to still be sad and depressed about the entire thing at this point, but.. Well, her brother always did have a knack for surprising people. She guessed it was simply Akira being more _adult_ than he claimed to be— and, maybe, the entire thing happening was good not only for her, but for Goro, too.

And she’d come to see that for herself, firsthand, when they’d come to Goro and Ann’s apartment, the single box of Goro’s clothes held firm in Akira’s arms.

The white door labelled “_5-B_” was new to her as Futaba had the honour of pressing the buzzer, would only wait and watch her surroundings before she heard the _click_ of the door opening, Ann’s face coming into view.

First, the woman had looked to Futaba, then Akira, spared a glanced over her shoulder, before smiling at them, bright and beautiful. Stepping aside she’d invite them in, holding the entrance wide open.

“Hey, you two,” she’d greet, “I was expecting Akira, but—”

“Emotional support sister,” she’d say simply, a small smile on her lips as they both watched Akira take the box into a room his feet had navigated multiple times in the past. Ann would whisper back to her that Goro was within his room.

They took the conversation to the living room couch as the blonde began recalling the absolute _state_ of the dancer’s bedroom this morning as he sorted through his and Akira’s clothes.

“So what we did was like.. We had to look at his photos before April last year to see which _really_ belonged to him and which belonged to Akira.”

“I should’ve thought of that,” Futaba hummed, feet crossed on the cushions.

And then, they heard Goro’s voice, all the way within his bedroom— which was just a few paces away from where they sat in the living room.

There was a mutual understanding to respect their privacy, but also.. 

“I really appreciate you going all the way here to bring my clothes back.. Thanks.”

“Yeah, of course— I mean, I figured you’d want your handkerchief again without my blood on it _sooner_ or later, so..”

A laugh, _painfully_ awkward-sounding. Ann and Futaba knew this was _not_ good.

“Yes, exactly..”

Silence.

Ann looked to Futaba.

More silence.

Futaba had pursed her lips into a thin line.

_More_ silence.

“Do you want some leftover cake, Futaba?”

Ann had said it so loudly, so very obviously trying to call out to the two— but Futaba would take anything at this point. She was getting secondhand embarrassment and it was becoming unbearable just _hearing _them trying to interact with each other.

And honestly, she didn’t blame either of them for being so awkward. Gods only knew that what they were trying to patch up was a broken bridge or whatever it was that Akira said.

Perhaps not so surprisingly, though, Akira and Goro emerged from the latter’s bedroom just seconds after Ann had come over to the fridge to withdraw said leftover cake— which was surprisingly not a lie.

“The cake isn’t a lie..” she would mumble, watching as the woman cut out a slice for both _her_ and Futaba, placing them on separate plates. Once she’d caught sight of the two men, she’d give them a small wave, a _trying-to-smoothen-this-out_ smile on her lips.

“You guys want some cake, too?”

“_Sure_—”

“I’ll _pass_—”

And they’d watch as Akira and Goro stared at one another, for just a _second_, before Akira pursed his lips into a line and nodded towards the balcony entrance.

“I’ll just be uh.. _Outside_ if you guys need me. I need some fresh air.”

The balcony door slid shut behind him after he’d stepped out. Futaba could really only watch it all unfold as she took a bite of the mocha-flavoured cake, sitting on her spot at their kitchen bar.  
Ann sat beside her, and after getting a plate of his own, Goro did, too.

But that didn’t last long.  
It was hard to ignore the way he’d sometimes glance over his shoulder, towards the balcony entrance, or when he’d do nothing but poke at the surface of his cake with a spoon. Eventually, as Futaba was more than halfway through with her slice, Goro would stand, grab another plate and fork, cut a slice, before bringing it and his own cake out towards the balcony.

Ann and Futaba would only watch up until the part that the door had mostly-closed— as closed as it could get when one only nudged it with one’s foot as he carried two plates of cake.

“Look, I really _do_ appreciate that you brought them back—”

“It isn’t even about that anymore, I hope you know.” Akira sounded bitter as he retorted, and Futaba could see the rise and dip of his shoulders as he sighed, even as she watched from behind him.

“I don’t know, Goro.. _Akechi_..? Can I keep calling you by your first name or—”

“No, it’s fine, Akira—”

_God_ was it painful to listen to.

“Come on.” Goro nudged the second slice towards him, after a few seconds of silence. “I _know_ mocha’s your favourite. Just take it.”

And lo and behold, Akira _did_ take the plate, albeit with much hesitance. 

“So what’s bothering you?”

“I guess it’s the whole..” An awkward pause, anticipation with a tinge of _fear_ mixed into the air. “_God_, I just can’t _take_ it. I want to keep being friends with you but it’s so hard when I’m so scared of fucking up like _last _year—”

“It’s why we have to be honest.”

A breath, something like a defeated sigh.

“And what if I hurt you again?”

Futaba could see Goro mimic the sigh, looking forwards now.

“Like it or not, I’ll get hurt again _eventually_. There’s no living without making mistakes, without _getting hurt_— but it’s why I’m telling you now that it _will_ happen, so you’ll realise that we still have a chance to fix things when it does. This goes both ways..”—a deep breath—“_I_ could hurt _you_, too.”

“_Yeah_, well you already did a number on my nose.. and my pride.”

And then, there was a beat of silence that lingered in the air. Futaba was unsure how the next few seconds would go— but a warm laugh echoed from Goro’s lips, even as quiet as it was.

“Are you _still_ mad over Gun About?”

“Look, the _only_ person I could accept getting beat by is the _King_, okay?”

“You’re an idiot,” Goro chuckled once more, “And that’s why I’m still not sorry about punching you. You deserved it, you fucking asshole.”

“Oh, Jesus, he’s swearing—” Ann would mutter, eyes just as intent as Futaba’s as she grabbed herself another slice.

Still, though, even as he cursed, Goro had a sickeningly-sweet smile tugged up his lips. It was apparent there was still leftover anger there, a tiny flame that began to flicker out.. But at least they were talking.

“Hey, I _may_ be an asshole, but at least my nose survived _enough_ for me to be a _handsome _asshole.”

“_Really_ now?”

“Maybe we should stop eavesdropping on them,” Futaba would mumble back, eyes on the last slice. Quickly, she’d snatch it onto her plate, padded over to the hallway. “Which way’s your room? I need you to teach me about, uh.. Dinner date makeup.”

Ann might’ve squealed, and it might’ve had Akira and Goro turning their heads to them as they stood together on the balcony— but when Ann and Futaba had begun padding over to the former’s room with their cakes in their hands, at least they didn’t revert back to how painfully awkward they used to be.  
And for that, Futaba allowed herself to hold a bit of hope in her heart for the two of them— even despite knowing that hope was a much too flammable thing, she’d _trust them_ to eventually work things out.

* * *

April!

April meant Akira’s birthday!

But it also meant April Fool’s.

He could never be _too_ careful throughout the day, even from the moment he awoke. For all he knew, they got Mona into their noob-tier pranks.. _again_. So he had to tread carefully here, even knowing that Futaba didn’t sleep over.

But, well, it came as a sort of pleasant surprise when his morning (at least, the hour he still _had_ of morning) went relatively quietly. He’d grab himself some breakfast, feed Mona, shower, then go back to his room to work on new songs— when he felt his phone vibrate.

* * *

**Shorty (sent 13:03)  
DUDE **

**Shorty (sent 13:03)  
EMERGENCY AT LEBLANC **

**Shorty (sent 13:03)  
GET UR ASS OVER HERE. **

* * *

Okay, that was.. suspicious, but also it was an _emergency_ at _his dad’s café_. April Fool’s or no, he couldn’t really ignore this.

Which brought him there, his cat tucked within his bag, with hair that was just a _bit_ more dishevelled than usual, and his heart pounding. Once he’d stepped foot into the café, everything just about seemed as normal as things could get— at least, that was his verdict after running his eyes over the establishment.

There weren’t many customers within the café, Boss stood in his usual spot behind the counter, and when the man had spotted him, there was a smile on his lips. Silently, he’d nod towards the attic staircase.

“Happy birthday, kid. Your friends are upstairs, but I don’t know what they’ve got in store for you— _Please_ try not to make too much of a mess.”

At that, Akira could only chuckle and nod, thank him as he dropped Mona off at one of the bar seats. He could remember the happenings of his birthday _last_ year: Glitter blaster to the face inside of his supposed “_gift_”, right in the middle of the café. It took a whole week trying to spot and clean up all the glitter from the entire premises, with specks somehow turning up in the places they least expected— Hell, Akira _still_ found some up in his attic the few times he’d gone up there in the past year.

So he could really only be _extremely_ careful with what Futaba had in store for him _this_ time.

His steps were light and careful as he ascended the staircase, hunched over as if he were trying to hide. It felt like he was on one of his missions as he took step by step to getting to his old room, eyes wide open and cautious as he looked around him, hands at the ready in case he needed to vault back or duck or something.

And when he saw it, right as he got his first view of the old attic, reflex kicked in and he pushed himself back down two steps, hands on the wooden rails and hearing the _click_ just a split-second before stripes of confetti rained down on him. His lips had tugged up into a wide grin as he watched the little strips of glossy, different-coloured paper fall around his figure, only went back up when he was _sure_ there wasn’t another round.

It wasn’t much of a sight he could be mad at, though, not at all.  
Sure, the automatic confetti canon was a little much (he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out how they even _got_ one in such short notice) but no harm. Plus, he managed to avoid it this time.

But there they were, standing around the table kept in the attic— which held a mocha cake with twenty-three candles lit atop it, along with drinks (non-alcoholic, because Akira still had work that night) and.. were those beef bowls from the diner in Shibuya? It was actually sort-of-funny while being sort-of-really-thoughtful to Akira, and so he could only give them a laugh as he walked over.

All of his friends were there—Ryuji, Yusuke, Ann, Shiho, even _Goro_—but then again, where was that little redhead with the shortest adult stature in existence?

“Happy—!” Ryuji would begin— right before he’d stopped and his eyes settled on something behind Akira.

“_BIRTHDAY!_”

_POP _

To the face.

Akira had only turned his body ever so slightly to look at whatever it was that snuck up behind him, only to get blasted to the face.

With red and gold glitter.

By his _dear, old sister_.

_Oh, you’re **on**_.

There was a moment in which he could only stop and pause, eyes closing underneath his glasses as he felt he powdery, shiny material hit him full-force, by one Futaba Sakura that held a glitter blaster in her hands as she stared up at him with a wide grin. From a bit further away from him, he could hear Ryuji erupt into laughter, followed by the rest of the group, and then Futaba as she began to scramble towards them.

Oh, but Akira Kurusu was a _man with a vengeance_.

He knew his whole front was covered by glitter. He knew it was cascading down his shirt and his hair— and Futaba _knew_, that if she didn’t get away quick enough, there would be _dire consequences_ to her actions, but she’d swear on her grave that it was worth it anyway.

See, Akira was more physically-adept than her (was much quicker than she’d ever be) and so it was child’s play to reach out and grab onto the woman, pulling her into a tight embrace. He buried his face and hair into the back of her head, shaking it to rub the glitter onto _her_ now, as her struggling did the rest of the work for him in spreading the forsaken decoration onto _her_ clothes.

“Thank you _so much_,” Akira would begin, voice faux-strained, “for the _wonderful _surprise, sis.”

“Yeah, _yeah_—” Futaba laughed, squealing as she felt her brother rub his head into hers, “_Get off!_”

“I just want to show you my _appreciation—_”

“SHOW ME YOUR APPRECIATION BY LETTING ME GO_—_“

“**_Never_**_._”

It took just a _few_ more seconds of laughter, re-snatching his sister, and spreading the glitter onto her before Akira deemed the punishment had fit the crime _enough_. When he’d released Futaba, her backside (along with her hair) shone in the light, positively _sparkling _whenever she made a single movement. Akira was pleased with himself, apparent in the smirk that decorated his face.

But when the shenanigans and antics had passed, he’d beam a smile at the others, a bright and toothy and _happy_ grin lighting his features as he approached them. They pushed the cake towards him carefully, keeping in mind the open flame— and when they’d dimmed the lights as best as they could, it began with Ann.

“_Happy birthday to you_,” she sang. It didn’t take too long before the rest of their group had joined in on the song.

Some were clapping to the beat, others had simply let their voices lilt into the air, but as Akira sat on that chair, leaning in just a _bit_ as he watched the flames flicker and dance atop the candles, he’d look up at them. He’d watch them as they sung to him, illuminated only by the sunlight barely-covered by makeshift curtains, and as the song came to a close, Akira would lean ever closer to the flames and blow.

“_Happy birthday to you!_”

That was just hours before.

Or was it yesterday?

It was honestly just a _little_ bit hard to tell, when his head pounded and his vision swam and _oh dear **God**_ he needed something to vomit into _stat_.

Perhaps it was the nausea that did it: what hid the oh-so-familiar, yet much-too-foreign scent of the sheets from his nose; Perhaps it was the migraine that blocked his vision from those grey walls, that which he remembered sleeping amidst on _too_ many afternoons and nights; Perhaps, just _maybe_, it was his own brain trying to protect himself from memories that were ingrained into itself, at just the mere sight of the familiar bathroom his feet navigated to almost on autopilot.

_God fucking **dammit**, not this again. _

Yeah, maybe Goro should try talking to Tachibana about being too much of a people-pleaser on his next session. What even _happened_ earlier? Last _night_?

He knew there was a window he could see from the bathroom sink, beyond the opened door and in the living room, and so he took the chance to survey what time it even _was_— and after emptying what remained of his stomach into the bowl, he’d chance a quick glance over his shoulder.

Well, aside from the darkness of night, his bleary and tired eyes certainly caught on something _else_: A familiar figure, tall and strong, obviously _very awake_ considering the hour. He’d had his hands raised, cautious, like he was afraid of scaring Goro— and maybe he did, if only by a bit. Still, though, he couldn’t deny seeing the concern washing over those widened eyes, so dark and deceptively-warm that the night’s sky and the sun’s rays would’ve been jealous.

Akira approached him carefully, with slow steps and (as he’d come to realise) a glass of water in his hand. When he came to enter the bathroom, Goro had begun splashing his face with water from the sink, rubbing at his eyes and trying his _damnest_ to keep things in focus for more than two seconds.

“Hey, you doing good?”

Goro could only shake his head, nose scrunching up as he felt another wave of nausea threaten his gut.

“I feel like shit.”

“You _look_ like shit.”

He’d glare at the man.

“Thanks.”

Once the glass was set down beside Goro on the counter, Akira did naught but back up until he leaned against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall, arms crossed and looking into the mirror— not at Goro’s reflection, nor at him _directly_.

“We found you passed out in the bathroom again a few hours ago. It was your studio’s celebration party?”

It was both a suggestion _and_ a question, all at once. Goro could remember everything up to the part when he started taking shots with the other dancers, and then stumbling over to dance, and..

“Oh _fuck_.”

And maybe Akira was scared of _him_ then with the hardness of his stare, as he’d snapped his head to look at the spot where the DJ’s eyes focused.

Bad move, because that just kickstarted his migraine.

“What happened _before_ that?”

A laugh, something almost easy. _Almost_.

“Don’t worry, you didn’t start another dance battle with Junji.”

Goro raised a brow, right above where his temple throbbed.

“How do you know who Junji even _is_?”

“I helped him take you up to your tables, after he found you in the bathroom and couldn’t bring you back alone,” Akira would shrug, a small huff escaping his lips as he turned his head to Goro. “It was pretty much close to midnight when you went missing _again_. Ann stayed behind to look for you and guess _where_ we found you passed out?”

Did he want to know?

Akira gestured towards the living room couch with a sweep of his arm.

“You got in _here_.”

And at that, there was nothing but a groan— a prolonged, pained, self-frustrated _groan_ as he covered his eyes with a hand, the other steadying himself on the counter. After his small fit, Goro would take hold of the water Akira had brought him, downed it in one sitting, and would almost _glare_ at its surface, right at his reflection.

“Sorry..” was all he could mutter, finally setting the glass back down onto its previous spot. He avoided looking the other man in the eyes, but from his peripheral, he could see Akira shake his head dismissively, even waving a hand as if to brush off the apology.

“No biggie.” Another huff. “You’re hungover cranky. I’m used to it.”

“_No_, for the.. Never mind, where’s Ann?”

Silence, for just a beat. Goro would lift his eyes to see Akira staring at him with a brow raised.

“Didn’t you see her beside you?”

After Akira had _accompanied_ (because Goro insisted he could walk on his own) the brunette back to the opened doorway of his bedroom, there was a mess of blonde hair there, sprouting from a head that was buried underneath the covers. Ann didn’t even look _remotely_ bothered by the way Goro had sprung out of the bed earlier— which only really proved to him that the woman burrito’d among the sheets was, indeed, his best friend.

That woman could sleep through an earthquake.

“Huh..”

“_Yup_.”

Leaning against the doorframe, Goro would turn his head to Akira. Though his head spun and his world turned this way and that, there wasn’t a sleepiness in his bones as he stood there; on the contrary, he felt wide awake.  
It was really only the pain that made him want to fall under the covers every time he woke up after a night of drinking, but.. well, there was no harm in conversing for just a _bit_ longer now, was there?

“So why are _you_ awake?” he’d ask, tone casual though raspy. Even despite the water he’d _just_ drank, his throat felt scratchy and dry.

“Dude, it’s not even three yet,” was all Akira said, tone incredulous as a small smile twitched up his lips, “I couldn’t work on my drafts so I was kinda just.. listening to some music.”

Goro glanced at the living room behind them.

“.. In the _dark_?”

“I’m a creature of the night, what can I say?”

A chuckle, before he nodded.

“_Right_, and what could _‘a creature of the night_’ be listening to at three in the morning sitting in the dark?”

There was a smile playing on the other man’s lips, a bit of hope shining in those eyes as he gazed back at Goro. For a moment, he’d turned and looked to the living room, then back to him, and opened his mouth to speak.

“Well, would you like to listen for yourself?”

And for a second, Goro wouldn’t deny that he still felt hesitation tug at him then. Here was an offer to (only _possibly_) deepen their bond once again, a chance to build things back up. For the past few months, he couldn’t say he wasn’t constantly trying to be careful with how they interacted; He was carefully crossing this tightrope, each step closer to the other side feeling like _one_ wrong move away from falling over the edge.  
As he stood there, leaning against the doorframe beside Akira, he wondered: “_Am I teetering?_”

Was he making the wrong move? Wait, was he _about_ to make the wrong move?

He looked at Akira again: Actually _saw_ him now. Those dark, dark eyes stared back at him, and just peeking beneath the layers a bit, Goro could see the same sight from a park in December.

_Honesty. Fear._

Akira was trying not to teeter, too— the only difference between them in that moment was that _he_ was taking the risk here.

Goro sighed.

_Fuck it_.

“If you throw in some painkillers and another glass of water, I might take you up on that deal.”

And it was how they found themselves settled on the couch, just a few inches apart from each other, to accommodate for the wire of Akira’s earphones. Goro was sitting on the right with a leg pressed to his chest and the other resting on the cushions, two painkillers in his system helping to dull the throb in his head; Akira folded his legs above one another on the left, fumbled with unlocking his phone. They each had an earbud tucked into their ears, and as Goro watched the lights of the buildings blink from beyond the living room windows, humming flooded into his left ear— [_music_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=giEOcBLcnfE).

_“Built an opera house, for you in the deepest jungle—” _

For just a split-second, he’d glance towards Akira. The man had his eyes closed, slowly bobbing his head to the beat.

_“And I walked across its stage, singing with my eyes closed.” _

He seemed to absorb the song, doing nothing but serenely nodding along to it. Goro, with his elbow propped on the top of the backrest, would only lean a cheek onto his hand as he watched.

_“I’ve got a love for you, I just can’t escape—” _

And slowly, Goro would find himself mimicking the man— eyes closed, head resting against his palm.

_“And all of my love for you, cuts me like barbed wire.” _

A few lines afterwards, he heard Akira start to hum along with the lyrics.  
The music was a slow, almost mesmerising ballad: the drums played a measure on repeat, calm and quiet; The bass would hum just a few soothing notes; The guitar strummed during the chorus; And the entire song seemed to echo each verse into the very depths of his soul.

It was calming, although..

“A love song?” Goro would ask, piping up quietly as the song began again. He’d opened his eyes once more, curiously peering at Akira as he, again, turned his head to the windows.

“You could say,” was all Akira replied with— but there was a sly little smile upon his cheeks as he returned the other’s stare, and in that moment, Goro just.. _knew_.. that he was trying to jest.

It was there in the shine of his eyes, in the curve of his lips: The way he’d tucked his chin into his chest yet peered up at Goro, like a cat.

“Sorry Akira, but I’m married.”

And for a second, Goro had broken that mischievous look.

“To my job, that is,” the dancer laughed.

That earned him a chuckle, a shake of the head. Akira made no move to take his earbud out even as the song ran its course again, and Goro found that he didn’t mind doing the same. It was a nice song.

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself here.”

Goro recognised those words, echoed from among a cold playground as they sat on swings. Somehow, it didn’t sting to remember the time, and he even found it in himself to snicker.

“Why’s that?”

“This used to be my and my ex’s song.” He didn’t miss the way that smile faltered, just ever so _slightly_. “I’m pretty sure she didn’t actually like it. We had _way_ different tastes in music, but she put up with me playing this whenever we were on dates.”

Akira would laugh, but there was just a hint of sadness and nostalgia mixed in it. Goro turned his head to properly look at him now, a question in his eyes— one that he didn’t need to vocalise, apparently.

“I was uh.. A little _demanding_ while we were together— _needy_, I guess. We made up a while ago, though, no worries.”

“Huh..”

He opted to stay quiet for a bit, retreating into his thoughts as the song flowed into his ear.  
Tachibana had already told him that his past relationships were none of his fault, being together with people like the ones he dated. It wasn’t _his_ fault that he got roped together with toxic people, but still, he wondered if he would ever get to clear things up like Akira did with _his_ previous relationships.

It got him thinking— and even still, he came to the conclusion that it was for the best that he _maybe_ didn’t reinitiate contact with people that _abused him_.

_"If I abandon love, I’d be a man without dreams.” _

After a bit, he’d sigh.

_Well, here goes nothing._

“My.. My first ex was a little like that.”

It was almost jarring how quickly Akira looked to him.

“Hey—”

“I mean, we were happy together but that didn’t last—”

“_Goro_.” Their stares met. “You don’t have to tell me anything just because I told you about my ex. I want you to do that _only_ when you’re ready and when.. _if _you want me to know.”

_“And I can still hear the sound of you crying through the night.” _

Goro would lay his head upon the backrest of the couch, head facing Akira, body turned to him. It was a little bit like they mirrored one another, and he didn’t even know if Akira himself was aware of it, but he was facing Goro now, too.

“I want you to know.”

_Am I teetering? _

Their gazes held, maybe for a little too long. Akira’s lips were turned down into a small frown, but eventually, he’d breathe in, close his eyes, and breathe out as he re-opened them.  
The way he looked to Goro.. The determination that shone in those obsidian gems for eyes.. It was like he was trying to say a million and one things with _just_ his gaze— Among them, Goro caught just a _single_ thing:

_You’re not. I’ll catch you if you do. _

_“Oh, I was meant to love you. I knew I loved you at first sight.” _

Goro took a deep breath.

“We broke up, and then I met Asahi..”

* * *

It was a sunny afternoon in May. Light shone through the windows, the air smelled of spices and curry, and a black and white cat napped in the booth farthest from the door— next to him, a brunette with red eyes and a book in his hands.

On the table before him sat a warm, half-full cup of coffee, the café silent save for the sound of the fridge’s hum, the pots boiling and the whistle of different coffee-making equipment. From a radio stationed on one end of the bar counter, slow jazz quietly lilted into the air: not enough to leave things silent, but not too much to make reading hard.

There was a calmness present in the atmosphere, a serenity that lingered between the only two inhabitants of the café (save for the cat.) _Homely_ was the only way Goro could describe Leblanc, and as he reclined back into the comfortable cushions of the booth, he’d smile into his novel, shoulders relaxed, eyes half-lidded. It was a little something he picked up from one of the _many_ bookstores in Shibuya, telling the tale of a trickster god in Norse mythology.

Just a bit farther away from him, a barista—tall, curly-haired, wearing stupid fake glasses that suited his stupidly-handsome features and a green apron above his white V-neck—just about finished ladling the café’s famous curry onto two plates of rice. With the grace and poise brought only from years of practise, he’d bring them to the table and place one before Goro, the other, on the spot in front of _his_ seat.

“Took you long enough,” Goro would tease, book closed and set beside his plate as he eyed the food, “I’m _starved_.”

“Yeah, well try saying that when you’ve worked around food this good the whole day without being able to eat it,” Akira would laugh.

He’d seated himself on the spot across Goro, apron removed and hung across the backrest of his couch beside him. After saying their thanks for the food, they were quick to grab their spoons and chow down.

“New book,” Akira pointed out, eyes peering curiously upon the runes spread across the cover. “That _has_ to be your third one this month.”

A hum echoed from Goro’s throat, his lips tugging up into a small smile.

“I bought it a while ago but never really got the time for it until _now_.” He took a bite of the curry, a little noise of delight bubbling from his lips as he chewed and swallowed. “I can’t let this opportunity go to waste.”

And Akira would laugh, nodding as he did so. Quietly, he’d go back to eating— but it wasn’t a hardened silence, any tension was absent in the air and any pressure was almost non-existent; Instead, Goro felt relaxed, the silence a comforting thing. He didn’t feel the need to fill the space with conversation, and in fact, was quite content listening to the slow jazz of the radio as he ate with Akira.

He was sure Akira liked it that way, too— He may not have looked it, but jazz was his favourite genre.

“So what’s the plan for today, Detective Prince?”

Goro would look up at him from a bite he had yet to take, a wide grin snaking up his cheeks.

“Escape room adventure. There’s a new attraction down in Akihabara that puts you into a locked room and you have to figure out the puzzles to get out.”

A hum. Akira rested a cheek into his hand as he settled an elbow beside his plate, leaning forwards just a _bit_. There was a smile on his cheeks, much too wide to be of innocent intent— Dare he say, Goro would’ve said that devilish grin suggested something far more _criminal_!

“I could pick those locks in five seconds flat and we’d beat their escape record easy.”

“And that’s _exactly_ why I’m not bringing you there,” Goro would laugh, “Best friend bonding time. Me and Ann _only_. Although..”

Now it was _his_ turn to smile mischievously, eyes half-lidded and looking borderline _dangerous_.

“I _do _have classes tomorrow and looking at the sign-up’s, there’s _one_ lost DJ there.”

Akira hummed lowly, feigning ignorance.

“Oh? _Do_ tell.”

A laugh— it was brief, Goro trying to keep the game going for as long as it could stretch.

“I looked him up, and _apparently_, he has a record of breaking hearts and making a complete idiot of himself.”

“_Whoever_ could this extremely clever, incredibly-talented and”—a fake cough—”impossibly-handsome DJ _be_?”

Okay, that broke him. Goro burst out laughing as Akira did an over-the-top wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Don’t say I’m throwing you to the sharks when you’re actually _there_.”

“Cut me some _slack_ here, I practise..!”

And then he’d smile at him, angling his head down and looking straight at the other man with a look in his eyes that said “_Really?_”

“Okay, _sometimes_— but I _do_!”

“Of _course_ you do.”

“You insult me.”

To emphasise, Akira placed a hand above his heart in faux-hurt. Again, it pulled a laugh from Goro’s tongue.

It didn’t take too long before they’d both emptied their plates, Goro to sip at the rest of his coffee as Akira read the prologue of the book. His free hand had found itself brushing amongst Mona’s fur, giving the cat light scratches as time passed— and on his lips, he didn’t even realise a smile had already formed.

What time can do to hearts, it was almost like a miracle.

The bell above Leblanc’s entrance rang, along with a familiar voice.

“It’s time!” Ann would cheer, excitement heavy on her expression. “It’s escape room time!”

She’d pass by Akira on her way bounding up to Goro, giving the man a small wave and a smile.

“Hey Akira”—she bent a bit to pet Mona—“_Hello_ Mona!”

And then, she’d look straight to Goro just a _tad_ expectantly, like an impatient child. He’d give Akira a little, lopsided smile as he was passed the book again, right before packed it into his bag and stood from his seat— or more like, half-dragged from as Ann called out once more to the curly-haired barista.

“Bye Akira, we’ve got stuff to do— see ya!”

“_I’ll text you_,” he’d mouth to the man, right before the bell of Leblanc’s entrance rang again.

Sitting mostly-alone in the café, Akira could only smile out the door.

It really _might_ have been a miracle.

* * *

“Where are you—”

“_Shush_, trust me on this.”

“Akira, I trusted you _once_ and you slammed a pie into my face!”

A laugh bubbled from his throat, warm and sweet. Blindfolded, the sound enveloped Goro— and he found that he didn’t quite _dislike_ it.

Not at all, actually.

“Okay, but _trust me_ when I say I have to do this before bringing you to the place.”

_The place_ being, as he was certain, Goro’s own apartment. Akira didn’t even need to tell him at this point. Following along was simply _semantics_.

“Akira, you _do_ know I was dragged along to when they were planning your birthday party, right?”

A stunned silence. Still, Akira continued pushing him forwards by the shoulders ever so gently.

“And you _know_ I’ve already figured out you all planned a birthday surprise for me, too?”

Akira continued not to speak. Goro could just _see_ him biting his lip— a habit he picked up from yours truly.

“So can you take this blindfold off me now?”

The hands left his shoulders.

“Okay, just.. Hold on for a sec.”

The scent of spices and coffee wafted into his nose, the exact moment he heard the bell above his head chime just seconds earlier.  
There were footsteps for a bit, a bit of ruffling of.. _something_. Paper crinkling, more footfalls, and..

And he could feel Akira’s presence standing before him, heard the deep breaths the other man took if he strained his ears enough. It took a few seconds, but eventually, there was his voice again— sounding small, almost _scared_.

“_Okay_.. Okay, take it off.”

When he’d pulled the cloth off his head, let his eyes refocus on the sight before him, the first thing he’d caught sight of was Akira’s features: It was obvious he’d tried (keyword being _tried_) to fix his hair, and Goro could see how he’d even straightened out the shirt beneath his jacket. Really _seeing_ Akira’s face though, he noted the anxiety bubbling behind those black eyes, the shaky smile he’d tried to use to cover it up.

Then, the hint of bright, beautiful red made him look down— right at a bouquet of roses, daffodils, and carnations.

Time stilled for a moment.. Or maybe it was just _him_, as he froze and his eyes had gone wide.

He could feel the way his cheeks warmed (immensely), could hear the (violent) pounding of his heart within his ears, felt his hands start to shake and his lip caught between his teeth and _oh God what does he say._

“A year ago, I met you here,” Akira had begun, slowly, _carefully_, “And since then a lot has happened. _I _made mistakes.. _You_ made mistakes.. We _both_ did things we could’ve done differently but _hey_”—he’d laugh nervously—”we fixed them, didn’t we? We made things work and we became better through helping each other grow, and..”

A gulp.

“And I _know_ what I said, back in December. That I couldn’t do anything beyond friends until everything is done, but—”

Akira would shift his gaze from Goro’s eyes, to the flowers. For a moment, he’d let his stare linger on the bouquet, chew on his lip— all before he took in a deep breath, and their stares caught one another once more.

“But it’s why I’m doing this _now_. I have no idea whether or not you still feel the same but I just.. I like you. A _lot_. I don’t know if I was being obvious these past few weeks but”—another chuckle, one more forced this time—“.._ Yeah_. I hope you know by this point that I’m not going to force you into anything, but I really just _had_ to say it— and what better time to give you a gift than on your birthday?”

Hope was a too-flammable thing.

Hope was a _much_ too-flammable thing.

“Your missions.. They’re..?” was all his throat could croak, suddenly and mysteriously dry. In response, Akira would give him a smile, small, _genuine_.

“Just one more.” Goro felt his lungs fill with air, realised he’d been holding his breath. “We have _one_ more to go on and then just.. Figuring it all out. Then we’re _done_.”

He couldn’t figure out when it happened, but all Goro knew was that his arms were around Akira and Akira’s arms were around _him_. There was a relief that lifted the weight off of _both_ their shoulders, filled their hearts and minds, made the embrace sweeter and the tears that began streaming down both their cheeks just a little more _justified_.

There was happiness. Pure, uncut, unfiltered _happiness_ pooling in his stomach, flowed through his veins so much it felt like he was going to _burst_. He wanted to check if this was a dream, perhaps, a happy figment of his subconscious— but when he’d accepted the bouquet and inhaled the scent of fresh flowers, it was _real_; When they’d travelled to his apartment together where the inevitable birthday surprise happened, it was _real_; And when their hands would, just _secretly_, join underneath the table, and Goro felt the warmth of the man beside him seep into his skin, it was all _real_.

Though there wasn’t an answer that escaped his lips yet, he was happy enough knowing Akira was going to be _safe_, that he was going to be _okay_— that, maybe, they could get the happy ending they deserved.

_Goddamn_, was it a hell of a year. 

* * *

"Grappling hook?" 

"Got it." 

"Flashdrive?" 

"Right here." 

"Earpiece?" 

Akira would move the blonde, straightened lock of hair away from his ear, tapping on the small piece of metal there. 

"Check." 

There was a beat of silence afterwards, the air weighing heavier with thickened tension. Futaba looked as if she almost didn't want to open her mouth anymore, but they knew they had to take the precautions. 

"Your gun?" 

The weight of the pistol tucked within its holster on his belt suddenly felt _much_ more pronounced. Akira tried to keep his face neutral as he nodded once, almost grimly. 

"Okay.." the redhead breathed slowly, moving to slip her headphones around her head. "_Okay_.." 

He'd watch as her eyes shifted over to Morgana, then back to Akira. Easily, he could pick apart the fear apparent in those wide, brown eyes.. Saw how they tried to anticipate the outcome of tonight's events: Think of ten different solutions for each possible situation. Akira had tried to reassure her before all this, but there was no calming the eternal storm of anxiety writhing beneath _all_ their skins, a beast rattling at the cage of their hearts. 

They knew this was all or nothing, and they went into it ready to give everything. 

_Just a few more_. 

Akira slipped the smiling mask onto his face. 

_Just a little bit more. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is upon us :^ 
> 
> happy holidays !! :^D 
> 
> listen list !!  
joji - medicine  
cigarettes after sex - opera house  
the macarons project - fly me to the moon


	26. Track 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a date (really.)

Existence, as Goro has concluded, is a hurricane.  
It is a constant of destruction and suffering, a never-ending spiral of too much noise, too much pain, and too much _hope_. Something he’s learned is that hope is a much-too dangerous weapon.

Yet when the storm has passed and the winds have calmed (when the air is clear and the skies are, as they always will be, blue) once more, he’s found that there will always be something anew: Rebuilt again, reformed again, made stronger and more resilient. He’s been contemplating how apt of a metaphor it is for his life.  
Born out of wedlock, placed in the midst of an uncaring and cruel world. He got through it with the vast amounts of love and affection his mother had showered him in; The disappearance of his mother in the middle of the night, when he was naught but nine years of age. He managed to survive by himself though being placed in an orphanage; Cycling through foster home after foster home each one shittier than the last. He relied on dance to keep his mind intact; Falling into an abyss of abuse and solitude, thrown from the pan straight to the fire after each painfully-toxic person he believed _loved _him. Ann was there for him, never left his side since; Felt heartbreak and anger, fear, confusion, rage, _losing himself_.. Therapy.

Like a cycle, the hurricane of existence would cast its deathly winds upon his fragile heart, mercilessly shredding it to pieces and leaving naught but destruction and distraught in its wake— and yet, he found ways to build everything back up from scratch. He learned to cope, to _grieve_, to accept sadness and the necessity of the mind to actually _feel_ sorrow.

He learned, bit by bit and slowly but surely, how to _live_.

Now, he must face a new lesson: To _love_ (properly, _healthily_.) Though it was a challenge of monumental difficulty—a Herculean task to uptake—he wasn’t alone. As what he’d come to realise from sessions with his therapist, the one he’d let the gates of his heart opened to _also_ had a long journey ahead in learning how to love.

They would walk that road together, help one another in the pitfalls and difficulties, the stumbles and clumsiness: The daunting puzzle that was a _relationship_.

In the time that it took for them to settle into a place of boundaries and truthfulness, Goro had come to learn new things about the enigma named Joker— the man he came to know as Akira Kurusu.  
He’d learned of his habits, his quirks: the most terrible of his jokes, the fondest of his smiles, the wit of his mind. He’d learned of his fears, his insecurities, the things that kept him up throughout the nights (_days_, technically) and managed a peek of his past, a glimpse into the life he lived.. A side that not many (if at all) who knew _Akira Kurusu_ were aware of.

In contrast, Akira had learned of _him_, parts of the _entire_ him: He’d learned of the things that irked Goro, the things that brought him joy, the little jokes and puns he _“hated’_ yet loved all the same; He learned of some of his boundaries, the past of his previous relationships, the books he set on a separate shelf so he could go through all his favourites in one go, picked up hints of topics that should be conversed when he was ready, the smells he loved to sniff and the story of how he came to cultivate a small garden on their balcony. Akira had learned to view Goro Akechi as more than what he’d shown— Because he was a _person_, a cultivation of stories, experiences, _grief_ and _tragedy_, yet with a smile so bright that he could make the Sun envious and eyes that shined like the stars that dotted the sky.

The both of them learned how to really _see_ one another, how to build a bridge that gradually brought them closer and _closer_— and though, when the high of excitement had gone down, Goro’d become an ounce hesitant and a ton fearful, Akira would wait patiently for him on the other side.

Which is why it took two weeks after their confessions before they went on the first date.

Despite the revelation that the both of them felt something akin to _romantic attraction_ to each other again, the fortnight before their first actual, official _date_ was.. concretely normal, in both a surprising and not-too-surprising way: Goro would visit Leblanc with a book on his days off and read with a nice cup of coffee before him, with Akira sitting on the couch opposite the brunette as they chatted, went for a round or ten of chess, played with Mona, and drank coffee as if it were their _life source_ (which, in Goro and Akira’s defence, it practically _was_); Sometimes, Akira would pop up in the listings of students for one of his classes, and Goro would work him to the _bone _to get better at his skills; And then, there were the nights Goro would wander back to The Metaverse with Ann, Shiho, and Junji, and they’d drink and invite Akira up to their table and just.. play quick games, because Akira still had to be sober _enough_ to be able to perform through to the rest of the night.

It was as normal as the days after they’d reconciled (for the _most_ part), because though they took their time inching closer together towards a relationship, Akira couldn’t help but be a bit _sweeter_ in how he did things: Going all or nothing with their chess matches because he knew Goro loved _real_ competition, offering dinner together after he’d inexplicably go to one of his dance classes because he knew Goro would be tired (and keeping in mind the boundaries this time), leaving little, supportive notes that left him compliments and single, bloomed roses by his coffee at Leblanc while the dancer was distracted, because well, Akira was a romantic— a romantic with things that needed adjusting, _sure_, but a romantic nonetheless.

He was only glad Goro didn’t reject them, would even reward Akira with the flush of his cheeks and a smile on his lips, a chuckle here and there at some too-cheesy notes by his coffee sometimes. Akira’s personal favourite had to be the one note he left that said “_Would you dance with me so I can tell my friends I just danced with an angel_?”

The _second_ Goro had read it, a noise that resounded confusion, embarrassment, and appreciation _somehow_ melted together and left his lips. It was a good day to get a card flung back at him.

But now, here he was: Standing before a white door with a silver plate engraved with _5-B _looking him in the eye. There was a nagging in the back of his head, strings tied around his heart that pulled this way and that, all whilst it pounded against his ribcage. It felt like there was something choking him by the throat even as all of the buttons of his overshirt were undone, and his hands beheld a clamminess that was not unfamiliar— along with a little something else.

He’d rang the buzzer already, and five minutes must’ve passed since he heard Ann’s muffled _“just a sec!”_ from the other side by that point. He’d been doing one thing or another to keep his mind off the small voice making fun of him within his own head: Tugging at the rounded collar of his undershirt, running his fingers through his hair (thus, simultaneously messing it up and fixing it again), checking his watch for the time— trying not to crush the bouquet he held.  
Now, he wouldn’t usually bring a full bouquet of nice, red roses in full bloom on the first date but.. If he were to be honest with himself here, it’d been a _while_ (a massive understatement, really) since he’d been on a serious date. He was lost. He’d been _panicking_ since two days prior. The date he was going on wasn’t going to be just _some_ date, he was going to be out and about with _the_ Goro Akechi himself! Mister “_I like my coffee like I like my chess matches_”, Mister “_I can kick your ass and you’d thank me for it_”, the _fucking_ Mister “_I can misquote Hegel and make it look **hot**_”! 

Okay, so _maybe_ those weren’t direct quotes from Goro himself, but..

He was going to take _Goro_ out on a date: Smart, witty, charismatic Goro Akechi. The Goro he’d met more than a year ago, the Goro that went through some _pretty bad shit_, the Goro that misquoted Hegel and _still_ left Akira a silent, internally-screaming mess! It was an understatement to say that this date was a big deal to Akira, and even more so to say he was nervous as _shit_.

So he _might_ have just had a mini heart attack when the doorknob suddenly turned mid-hair mussing, and he _might’ve_ nearly crush the stems of the roses with how hard his hands had balled into fists with _date anxiety_, and his heart _might_ have just about leapt into his throat when he caught sight of soft, brown hair peeking from the other side of the wood, before his eyes had landed upon a sea of rich Bordeaux and starlight— big eyes framed by long, thick lashes, a boyish charm present on the delicate curve of his jaw.. soft, pink lips, topped with a layer of gloss and curved into a small, growing smile.

_Fuck_.

Akira’s brain short-circuited.

“H—”

He had _no_ fucking clue if that was supposed to be a _breath_ or a sad excuse of a _“Hi_.”

“Hey, Akira.”

Akira’s brain just _fried_.

_Don’t mess this up. If you mess this up I will literally slap you. Say something, **talk**! Tell him how pretty he looks right now— OH SHIT, YOU HAVE ROSES. GIVE HIM. THE ROSES. _

When had his hand shot up?

Goro’s eyes went from him, to the bouquet he’d been offered, smile tugging further up his cheeks as he’d accepted the gift and brought it closer to his nose. A second had passed wherein the other man’s lids had fallen as he sniffed the fresh flowers, and Akira would _swear_ if Goro Akechi, in that small moment, did _not_ look like one of Yusuke’s paintings: He looked like a masterpiece taken straight out of one of the painter’s canvasses, an actual _angel_ that flew down from Heaven and blessed him with his presence!

_Y’gotta calm down here. _

Well _that_ was easier said than done.

“I think I just died,” his lips would form instead, going straight for a line he’d had stored in the back of his brain, “Because right now I’m pretty sure I’m looking at an angel.”

_Good going_.

That, at least, earned him a chuckle from Goro.

“If I’m an angel, then you’re Satan himself,” he’d start, smile turning sly in a _second_, “Because you’re fine as _Hell_.”

Akira Kurusu died that day. He died at a _very_ early age from a _very_ good reason.

A burst of laughter followed almost immediately after Goro had finished speaking, Akira to start curling in on himself and holding in stomach in absolute _pain_. He hadn’t even noticed when Goro had begun laughing, too, but by the tail end of it, Akira was doing his damnest to keep himself together with hands on his knees as he lifted his head to look at the other.

“Wh—” He laughed more, head falling to face the floor again, “_How did you make that line sound so **lame**?_”

“I don’t know, it just came out!”

Goro was rubbing at his eyes with the hand that didn’t hold his bouquet, smile on his lips an absolutely _dazzling _sight to behold.

“I think you’re spending too much time with me— You’re getting my bad one-liners when _I’m _supposed to be the lame one here.” Akira would chuckle, a final fit of laughter howling off of both of them before they’d settled back upright, cheeks warm with joy and eyes gone soft as they looked at one another.

“So you admit that they’re _bad_ one-liners now, huh?” Goro nudged.

“I admit they’re _so bad they’re **good**_.”

“Nice save.”

“Thank you, I’ve been working hard on it.”

A chuckle, before Goro’s voice whispered into the air.

“Hey.”

“_Hey_.”

And a pause, one filled with shy (yet adoring) smiles.

“You look great.”

“_I_ should be saying that.”

And then, a moment when Akira’s palm had gone to brush over Goro’s cheek, thumb caressing his skin as the brunette leaned into the warmth of his touch: eyes closed, looking like a dream.

“You’re so beautiful.”

“You tell me that everyday,” he’d mumble, teeth shining through the part in the smile on his lips.

“I mean it everyday”—now it was Akira’s turn to smile, the look in his eyes spelling a soft kind of _smitten_—“You’re beautiful.”

Akira tucked a stray lock of hair away from the man’s face, pinning it to the back of his ear as those striking, red eyes once more met him.

“More beautiful than all the roses in the world.”

Then trailed the pads of his fingers over the soft expanse of Goro’s cheek again.

“More beautiful than the lights of Tokyo at night.”

Wandered his hand down Goro’s arm.

“More beautiful than the sun.”

And then, finally, came to grasp Goro’s hand in his own.

“And all the stars in the sky.”

Lifted it up to press a kiss upon his knuckles. In return, Goro let out a small, light laugh just under his breath, their fingers so easily and so naturally coming to slot within the spaces between each other, as if puzzle pieces that finally found one another again. The brunette used the sleeve of his shirt to lightly pat at the corners of his eyes, another chuckle escaping his lips as he shook his head.

“You’re going to make me ruin the makeup Ann worked so hard on..”

“I can handle Ann tearing me to shreds if it’s to make you happy,” Akira shrugged, easy smile playing at the corners of his lips. As if summoned, the woman would suddenly pop into Akira’s peripheral from the door of her bedroom, his eyes catching on the bright blonde of her hair as she’d approached them, beaming.

“Let me take those,” she’d say, slipping the bouquet of roses from Goro’s hand into her own, “I’ll take these to your room, so go on your date already and I can get away from all this mushy stuff, you _nerds_.”

Ann stuck her tongue out to them, teasing, of course, but still embarrassing the living _Hell_ out of Akira— All until she’d patted her best friend on his shoulder, leaning over it with a sharp, dangerous look in her eyes, and coming to focus on the DJ with her voice lowered to depths he didn’t even _know_ she could bring it.

“I swear, if anything happens to my boy.. I will fucking _bury _you, Akira Kurusu.”

And like a flicked switch, her face lit up like Christmas trees in December, smile big and bright as she shooed Goro out the door with hands on his back.

“Okay, have fun! Be safe, bring him back by midnight, all that stuff— _I put pepper spray in your pocket in case he tries anything **funny**_.” She’d give one last wink to Goro as he looked over his shoulder to her, eyes wide at something not unlike surprise. “I’m _kidding_. I’ll see you two tomorrow, bye!”

The door clicked with its close, Ann’s visage disappearing from view and leaving them alone amidst the hallway of their apartment building. Akira, with his hand still very much intertwined with Goro’s, would fill the space between them with a chuckle as he stepped towards the elevators and tugged the brunette along.

“I guess we’ll see her tomorrow.” They stopped in front of the lift, Akira’s smile wide on his cheeks as Goro, too, had laughed. “Now shall we, my prince?”

He felt the grip of the other tighten around his hand— Comfortingly, _securely_, all whilst his eyes shone with an excitement that mirrored his own.

“Yeah, yeah— Save the one-liners for later, you dweeb.”

* * *

Tachibana taught him a concept that Goro found useful in treating himself, regarding matters that concerned more things than he thought it would. Lately, he’d been thinking about it to, just slowly but surely, understand the problems he’d always had concerning absent fathers and mothers gone too soon, of childhoods lost in the dangerous waters of the Japanese orphanage system: The _inner child_.  
He’d been trying to treat his inner child with care, the reflection of himself in his head as a boy of nine years old, confused, abused, and _alone_. He’s been telling the bruised boy things he felt like _he_ needed to hear at the time, comforting words coupled with soothing gestures, imagined handling him with the care you’d give to a fragile glass sculpture— one that could too easily break under a barely-there hold.

Right about now, Goro could just about _see_ his inner child bouncing up and down, with big, red eyes wide with wonder and curiosity, head darting this way and that with a spark of joy in his gaze that’d never been present save for the years preceding his stay at the orphanage. He could just imagine the boy trying to absorb all the sights, the sounds, the smells, the speed race pounding of his heart and the balloon of excitement welling up with too much air all in the same breath. Now, he’d been to Destinyland before, but when Akira had led him all the way to the front entrance with his hand firmly within _his_, and had presented the park with a wide sweep of his arm and a “_ta-dah!_” bouncing off his lips, Goro had to take a _moment_ to take it all in.

Afterwards, what ensued was Goro Akechi, a grown man of 24 years old, excitedly dragging Akira along to the nearest rides he wanted to get on like a child coming to a theme park for the first time in his life. In his defence, it’d been a while since he last came to Destinyland, and _maybe_ taking him out on a fun day of adrenaline and too much sugar as the first date with the first man who wanted nothing more for him than his happiness was _overwhelming_— In a good way.

Goro, dizzy with joy and motion sickness from the rollercoaster, would argue that it was in a _very_ good way.

“I think I’m going to vomit,” he giggled, stomach clutched in one hand and face just a _smidge_ paler than before they’d boarded the rollercoaster. It was not a lie. He very much felt nauseous, but whether it was due to the excitement, the adrenaline pumping through his system in gallons, or the two consecutive loops the vehicle made around the ramps, he didn’t know. Akira, who’d been laughing next to him with his arm securely slung over the brunette’s shoulders, would continue to chuckle and snicker at his suffering.

“You idiot,” he’d chide, the lilt in his voice too light to be serious, “I told you you probably wouldn’t be able to handle it!”

At that, Goro would rebut with weakly pushing Akira off of him, grin stretched wide across his cheeks as he looked at the man.

“Oh, woe is _me_, finding out my darling knight in shining armour doesn’t give a _crap_ about his prince!”

Once more, his ears filled with that warm, so very melodious sound: Akira’s laughter, singing into the air like a sugar-sweet piano. He’d laugh so hard that his head had thrown back, face to the skies and _almost_ falling onto his back as he stumbled on his very feet. It was a sight he beheld on so many occasions before, but the amount of carefree and happiness just _radiating_ off the man in that exact moment had Goro wishing he could capture it in a photo.

That was, until Akira’s hands had reached out and his arms wrapped around Goro’s middle, pulling him close in one swift motion and eliminating the space between them with a hug. He looked Goro in the eyes, his gaze soft and happy and (dare he say) _smitten_ as he stared into him, smile playing on closed lips and the laughter he’d left in the air _infectious_. Soon, Goro found himself letting out a small chuckle at the way Akira’s stare had been trained on him for just over three seconds.

“What is it?”

“I’m a human lie detector,” Akira began, smile breaking into a full-blown grin, “And I’m finding out if you _really_ believe this knight in shining armour wouldn’t bring you to the nearest bathroom _if_ you’re about to vomit on his nicest date outfit.”

That pulled a snicker out of Goro, right as he put a hand on his mouth to stop what _might_ have been a rush of puke climbing up his gut, the other pushing himself free from Akira’s grasp once more.

“Stop making me laugh or I’ll _really _do it!”

“They don’t call me _Joker_ for no reason!”

Goro had to run to the nearest bathroom he could see, with Akira following as he howled laughter in both thinly-veiled concern, and sheer _amusement_.

After the rollercoaster (and the puking incident), they would find themselves almost flitting on and off just about three more different rides: A ride in which they got on a log-shaped boat and slid down a “_gigantic plummet into death_” slide (on which, Akira’s red flannel very much got drenched from sitting on a very specific spot), one where they’d been spun around whilst the platform their seats were on raced on a U-shaped track (and Goro almost vomited again), and then, finally, a _40-metre tower_ where they’d been lifted up on before they were _dropped_ whilst strapped onto their seats, right as they’d gotten a nice view of the expanse of the park and _then_ some. Akira, after the thrill, had reasoned it was the next best thing to a Ferris wheel— and, _okay_, Goro would admit he wasn’t wrong.  
But after the high of adrenaline had left their energy levels mostly depleted and sweat began to trickle down their napes and foreheads, they found a little café, just off in the midst of Destinyland’s shopping district. Seated by the window, they snacked on French pastries and coffee as Akira cracked small jokes here and there about “_being able to top this coffee in his sleep_” and “_being able to handle anything the park threw at me_.” When they weren’t laughing about _that_, they were recounting the thrill from the rides and the different characters they’d met and taken pictures with as they traversed the park, about how the giant Jack Frost’s costume was fuzzy and (_somehow_) just a little chilly even as they stood under the sun, and about how much bigger the theme park felt when they’d walked this way and that just to commemorate each and every sight to memory.

Goro was going to be honest here, he hadn’t really felt this much fun since.. Well, since his mother.

He didn’t have enough time to dwell on her enough to make him sad, though, because after they’d gotten up from their seats, Akira’s eyes seemed to light up as his stare snagged on a place just a bit away from the café. Taking Goro’s hand in his, he looked back to the brunette, grin on his cheeks and curiosity in his eyes. Goro thought his heart would’ve stopped in that _exact_ moment.

“I wanna take you somewhere,” the DJ said, head nodding towards a large building just down the plaza. The first thing that caught Goro’s eye, as he’d looked over to where Akira gestured, was the dome-shaped roof of the building, resembling something like an observatory. If he squinted, he could see a telescope poking out a window near its centre, its lens reflecting the late afternoon light. Above its entrance, a sign (with stars and planets above a sea filled with ships) read “_Frontier Explorations_”.

Goro was here for this. Goro was absolutely _down_.

“Then let’s go!”

The first room of the building, he could perhaps describe, was something straight out the history books. It reminded Goro of an 18th-century town by the sea, what with its old-looking walls and even older-looking artifacts displayed on white, marble pedestals. Around the exhibit displayed contraptions that looked as if meant for travel out across the vast ocean, with antique compasses and pocketwatches made of brass and silver, large, worn maps hung across the walls, and small model ships floating around an elevated, circular, marble base filled with water in the middle of the room. Goro found himself studying each piece carefully, walking up to the pedestals and maps and letting his eyes wander over all the little details, his imagination floating among a time of ships with cannons and pirates, of treasure-hunting and sailing across the world. When he’d gotten his fill of looking at every piece in the first room, he and Akira would go into the only other passageway aside from the entrance— A corridor by their far left.

Goro found it intriguing with the marble curving and forming into angels even from outside the little tunnel, but when they’d stepped inside, lights bathing over them and the walls, he quickly found himself greedy with curiosity and awe. The walls were painted over with visions of angels in the sky and clouds illuminated with a holy light, all whilst the bottom half depicted ships sailing through storms or into battle. It had such a hyperrealism to it that Goro felt as if he was sucked back into the depths of hardship and heavy rain pelting onto the sailors’ backs, and with each and every step they took deeper into the tunnel (closer to the other side), his head never strayed from looking at the walls.

But then they walked into the next room, and a smile finally broke through his once-parted lips.

Above them, in the dimly-lit space, was a dome-shaped ceiling. It was a simple midnight blue, like the night’s sky, with borders and lines on its edges resembling the marks on a compass— but that wasn’t what made Goro’s gaze dance with wonder, wasn’t what made him stare straight at the ceiling with a grin decorating his features; It was, just perhaps, the different stars that illuminated the display, with thin lines connecting some into their respective constellations. In the middle of the room stood a wooden contraption that beheld models of the planets, its arms splayed out in different directions to showcase their positions around the Sun— that which was situated in the very middle of them all, a big ball of glass and intricately-shaped brass curves that resembled its flares. It lit up with a bright, yellow glow, a light burning brilliantly in the midst of the relatively-dark room.

Beside him, Goro heard Akira chuckle lowly under his breath, and in that moment, peeked a glance at him.  
Akira, too, seemed to be fascinated with the circular room, his eyes roaming over the expanse of the stars and the planets above them as they walked around the contraption. When his gaze settled on the map of the constellations, Goro caught the little flecks of light catching in his dark irises, scattering and shining on the black of his eyes. It mirrored what the scene of a cloudless, night sky looked like, Goro finding himself enamoured with the view.

When their stares caught, a close-lipped smile settled on Akira’s cheeks, and the sight made Goro’s heart jump to his throat— in a not entirely-unpleasant way.

“Reminds me of—”

“The observatory in Sunshine City, right?” Goro finished for him, snicker in his throat. “Like when we set Futaba and Yusuke up on that date?”

Akira laughed quietly, nodding.

“Now I’m a little worried they set _us_ up on a date now,” he would joke, arm coming around Goro’s shoulders and pulling him in close faux(?) protectively. “Y’never know with them. But to be fair, it _was_ everyone except those two’s idea to set up the entire thing— Me and you included.”

“They wouldn’t.. _Would they_?” Goro whispered in a conspiracy kind of way, eyes darting around the room as if he were trying to spot a head of blonde or orange hair.

A chuckle escaped from the both of them, right as Akira began leading Goro out the room.

“_Maybe_ they wouldn’t, but I wanna be safe just in case.”

“Be safe, huh?” The brunette chuckled, following in-step with him as his arm came to slip across Akira’s back until his hand settled on the man’s waist, like it belonged there— and it did. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well—”

Time didn’t seem to exist when he was with Akira— either that, or they just spent _way_ more time in the observatory building than he thought.  
The sky outside had gone from its paling shades of blues, to being painted with rich and vibrant hues of oranges and reds, the sunset spread across the vastness above them like watercolours on a canvas as they’d stepped out the exit of the building. From in front of Goro, he could see the canals of this part of Destinyland, with Italian-inspired buildings lining the streets from across the stone and wood bridges. It housed a small pier, too, and as Goro’s gaze trailed back to Akira’s, the man let out a chuckle as he walked them forwards.

“—I was hoping to make a getaway by gondola.”

_“Hold me close and hold me fast”_

“Y’know, I never thought this would actually.. _happen_.”

_“This magic spell you cast,” _

“What do you mean?”

_“This is la vie en rose.” _

“I never thought I’d actually get the chance to take you out on a date,” Akira laughed, shoulders doing that rise and fall thing with every snicker. Goro, too, couldn’t help but share in the laughter as he sat beside the man, eyes to the sky and just a fair amount of distance between them. The moment felt peaceful as the gondola they boarded moved across the canals of Destinyland, slow and steady, giving them time to take in the atmosphere of Little Italy. From speakers stuck to some of the lampposts above them, the strumming of a guitar sounded off into the busy hustle and bustle air of the streets— and with it, the voices of two, melodious women.

Well, even if the song _was_ truly beautiful, Goro couldn’t help but hang onto every word of the man beside him— _wouldn’t_, even if he could.

He breathed a contented sigh, a little, lopsided smile curving up his cheeks as his hand moved across the little space between where they sat. He wasn’t sure if Akira had noticed it or not, but their fingers met much too sooner than he’d expected, entangling and intertwining in the way that felt so very natural to them. When their digits slotted into place between each other, and Goro felt the warmth of Akira’s presence radiating off of him not _just_ from his gaze, he found himself squeezing the other’s hand.

_“When you kiss me, Heaven sighs,” _

“Well, I could honestly say the same for myself,” Goro began, scooting just a bit farther to the left on his seat, “When I met you, the first thing that came to my head was, “_this man would never date me._””

_“And though I close my eyes,” _

Akira, scooting just a bit farther to his right, shot him a question with the incredulous look in his eyes, though the smile that mirrored Goro’s own never left his lips.

_“This is la vie en rose.” _

“Funny, I thought the same thing.” And just a little bit closer. “I thought, “_there’s no way in Hell this angel would go out with me._””

And it was Goro’s turn to pierce him with a dubious stare. He himself didn’t even realise he’d moved a few centimetres closer to Akira, then.

“_Really_, now?”

“_Promise_!” Akira snickered, inching closer. “Well, I just hope you know you did _more_ than just go on a date with me.”

Closer.

“And what is _that_?” A sly look in those dark eyes, like the cat that caught the canary.

And closer.

“Well..”

_POP _

_BANG _

In the midst of their conversation, Goro hadn’t much paid mind to the darkening of the sky above them, nor how the lampposts and lights brightened up Little Italy from all around. It bathed the buildings in a fairylike glow, the night bringing upon them a livelier atmosphere than the day. They’d almost made it out of the canals to the wide waters that stretched across Destinyland, where ferries and boats and other gondolas docked, and the sky above them was clear and as visible as the big castle seen all across the theme park. Painting the vastness above them now, with the stars and the moon, were fireworks that popped and lit up in shapes: the faces of the mascots, some faux-stars— bright, red hearts.

Like a child, Goro couldn’t help but draw his eyes over to the show, to watch in a thinly-veiled excitement as they fizzled in and out of the dark night’s sky. It awed him like fireworks never had before, shining in his eyes in different colours and filling a sense of warmth and nostalgia within his chest, lips in a full-blown grin, teeth and everything.

And faintly, as all the music from Little Italy faded into quietness and the gondola moved further into the open waters out of the canals, all the _booms_ from the fireworks rang louder in his ears. Goro heard a near-silent, deceptively velvety and deep voice beside him curse under his breath. Looking back to Akira, the words snagged in his throat seeing the man’s gaze focused on him, eyes wide and starstruck like Goro was the only beautiful thing to see out of everything there.

“You stole my heart.”

It came out of his lips like a breath, a confession, and a prayer all at once, in a whisper that sounded inaudible yet echoed in Goro’s ears even as the fireworks boomed above the two of them.

Goro pressed his forehead against Akira’s, and on his lips, a smile filled with so much happiness that his cheeks started to _hurt_.

“Then I think it’s only fair that you know you stole mine, too.”

Akira squeezed his hand just a bit tighter.

“Goro?”

And Goro returned it in kind.

“Yes, Akira?”

Their noses touched.

“Can I kiss you?”

Goro’s eyes closed, and it was without any hesitation in the world when he’d nodded just slightly, mumbling a quiet, happy,

“_Yes_.”

* * *

_SLAM_

Okay, so maybe they could’ve been just a _bit_ gentler in closing the door—

“_Goro_— Goro_, kiss my neck—_”

– but there were more pressing matters that needed more attention.

“_Please—_”

Goro bit his neck, grin spread across his cheeks as Akira yelped above him.

“That was mean.”

“_You_ were mean,” the brunette chuckled, lips planting across the bite mark he’d left on the smooth, pale column of skin pressed against the front door before him, “For the entire night, in fact. I’m just getting some revenge.”

It wasn’t _Goro’s_ fault, okay? After Destinyland, there was a pretty good sushi restaurant nearby and they decided to have dinner there: Talk, have some good sushi, maybe steal a couple of kisses from their table in the corner of the establishment (and _then_ snatch some sushi off of each other’s plates), and they did that! And everything was going _great_! But then Akira kept teasing Goro about lame his old food blog was, and the next time they snuck a kiss after eating, Goro’s brain went _“bite his lip._”

And bite his lip, that he did.

Then, it just.. escalated.

Very quickly, actually.

Because after the kiss and bite, Akira asked where Goro wanted to go to next— and Akira’s home was closer and it was starting to rain, so..

Well, now there they were: Akira leaning against his front door, hair and flannel soaked, with the red piece of clothing abandoned on the floor of the entrance. It exposed the man’s gloriously-strong biceps and the entirety of his white, sleeveless undershirt, how his chest heaved, how warm his skin felt amongst his dampened clothing. His head had been tilted up to allow Goro more access as the brunette trailed his way down Akira’s skin, planting kisses from Akira’s lips, to his jaw, then to his neck, where he’d bitten and kissed again. Goro looked up to him with eyes that spelled mischief and a glint of desire, his lips stretched into a devilish, wanton smile.

It was easy to guide Akira’s hands to the buttons of his button-up, even easier to shrug off the white article when the man had done quick, expertly work undoing each one with precision and desperation. Like magnets, their lips locked once Goro had lifted the undershirt off of Akira’s frame, fingers lost in the dark curls on the back of his head. His breath hitched feeling the man slide his hands down his bared back, stopping only when they’d settled on groping his ass.

That only made Goro buck his hips forwards, a small hiss quietly cutting into the air between their lips when friction met with their jeans brushing up against one another.

“_Fuck—_” Akira groaned, hips steadying into a cycle of slow, languid grinding. His hands would guide Goro’s own hips closer to his, but it served little to no help when the brunette himself had closed the space between their crotches himself, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he tried to supress the sounds that would spill regardless.

“Do you wanna—” Akira had begun, only to be caught off by Goro’s own demanding, “Couch, _now_.”

And so they moved, albeit it was more of Goro taking cautious (yet careless) steps back as Akira guided him to the sofa, lips never breaking contact the entire time. When Goro’s back met with the soft cushions of the black living room couch, he’d pulled Akira on top of him almost immediately, desperate to taste his lips again, desperate to feel his hands roaming his skin, to feel the sort of electric current that sparked with each grind of the hips and each bite left on skin seen on a daily.

It was hard to tell which was a breath and which was a moan, right when the other had let his lips roam further away from Goro’s lips and closer to his neck, his collarbones, his chest— down to his stomach, teasing around just above the button of his pants. All the while, one of Goro’s hands had come to cover his eyes, the other entangling within inky locks of hair as he made his way farther and farther down South. He felt each and every kiss left on his skin: on the column of his throat, on the planes of his torso, on the tiny space just above his jeans, the pecks left on his sides, the lips that’d enclosed around his crotch. The man he was with was teasing him, trying to drag this out, he was sure. Goro knew he wanted him to get to the point where he’d beg, as they all did.

So Goro begged for release, gripping the hair balled around his fist tighter, wrapping one leg around the strong, lithe torso above him, pushing him closer to where he wanted, where he _needed_. He let his mouth move and his voice sing out the prayers that the other wanted, the begs and the pleads and the damned petnames he hated saying.

But it was worth it for the pleasure. It would be worth it because it _felt good_. It was—

“Goro.”

There was a hand around his wrist.

“You’re crying.”

Goro’s eyes snapped open, darting towards the sight perched above him: Akira Kurusu, hair tousled into a mess (more than usual), shirtless (because.. they’d stripped each other at the front entrance, right), and looking like he’d just absorbed all the worry and concern in the world. He was with Akira Kurusu. It was Akira above him. He wasn’t just _some guy_.

He wasn’t another mistake.

Goro sucked in a breath, blinking once. He felt a wet drop slide from the corner of his eye, would bring a hand up to rub at it just to confirm as he found himself attempting to inhale deeply. Maybe it was to try and calm himself, maybe it was to catch his breath; He wasn’t really sure, but what he knew was that he was, as Akira had said, _crying_.

“I’m—” the brunette would sputter, rubbing the back of his arm across his eyes as he scooted into a sitting position, legs folded up to his chest, “I’m _sorry,_ this is—”

“Hey..”

“This isn’t anything, if you want us to continue I could—”

“_Goro_.”

Arms circling his frame. A warmth radiating from all around him. When Goro didn’t move, he felt Akira hug him tighter.

“Did I do something wrong? Was I moving too fast? I’m sorry, I should’ve asked if you wanted this first, too..”

“Akira, I’m just—” Goro shook his head, face buried within his knees now, “I _want_ this, I really do, but I just— I couldn’t..”

It felt like he was trying to swallow a rock as he gulped, throat dry and scratchy. He didn’t even know how to say this, how to line the words together to make it sound.. _acceptable_. How do you tell your potential lover something like that? How do you rip off the bandaid, drop the bomb?

Akira, still engulfing him in an embrace, would stay quiet as he waited for Goro to continue— or not at all. Sometimes, Goro wouldn’t bring up the topic, and that was okay. He didn’t have to say anything, and Akira had always reassured him of that.

But Goro _needed_ to say this, felt it in his bones that this was something Akira should _know_ about before he made his choice.

Goro wasn’t going to be the person that made him choose without knowing all the details first.

“I used to..” he mumbled, voice shaky and uneven, “I was, uhm.. I used to..”

Took a deep breath in, tried to calm the rapid beating of his heart.

“I used to _sleep around_..” A pause, like he waited for a reaction. When there was none, Goro would gulp again, unmoving from his spot, “And I.. I couldn’t stop thinking about how that used to be when you were trying to make me.. feel good.”

The arms hugged tighter around him, now.

“I just— I couldn’t help falling back into how I acted and thought when I did that— I didn’t want to and I want to shake it off but I just—”

Then released him entirely.

“I _needed_ that intimacy— And I’m scared the same fuck and flee thing will happen with you even though I _know_ that’s not going to happen but—”

Until he felt hands on his shoulders.

“You’re someone I really, _really _don’t want to lose so I’m _scared _that you’ll think less of me now that you know..”

Squeezed them when Goro finished speaking. 

“Listen to me, alright?”

Goro took a shaky breath in, nodding as much as he could in his position.

“Look, I know you’re still trying to get over your past and what you did and what happened to you and _everything_— But I need you to know that you’re not alone in that. You have your friends now.. You have _me_. And I promise you that, no matter what comes back from the past to haunt you now, I will always be here for you.

“No matter who or what pops up out of nowhere, I’ll stay by your side. What you did or used to do isn’t the you _now_; You’ve _changed_. I understand that you were in a.. _really_.. bad place, but I promise that as long as I can help it, you won’t have to be in those bad places anymore.. Or at least, you won’t be alone.”

Goro felt lips at the top of his head, then, before the weight of Akira’s head rested above his chestnut brown locks. At their proximity, he could feel the man’s voice rumbling through his naked chest, comforted in the warmth of his body heat, of his presence.. That coffee and fabric softener scent that always clung to him.

“What I’m trying to say is.. It doesn’t matter to me that you used to do that, and if you don’t want to tell me the details of _anything_, I’m not going to pressure you into saying what you don’t want to. If you’re not ready to do anything with me, I’m not going to force you, either— All I want is to make you happy, okay? In any way I can.”

It was.. both hard to believe but exactly what he thought Akira would say, in that moment. Goro knew Akira held genuine care for him, knew that the man wouldn’t just.. _disappear_, like too many others had done before, but unfortunately, anxiety is a bitch. And a half. But Goro had to deal with it, and he was only glad that he had Akira to comfort him, to help him lift the heavy burden of his heart.

Slowly, as if emerging from a protective barrier, Goro would peer at Akira with runny eyeliner and smudged foundation. When he did so, Akira would shift here and there until he sat with legs crossed atop the cushions before him, eyes attentive, always at the ready, but with a small, sympathetic smile on his lips either way.

“Thank you..” the brunette mumbled, almost inaudibly— but it was there.

“I.. You stole my heart, Goro Akechi. The least I could do is help you take care of yours.”

And that, at least, made Goro chuckle— though it was a bit broken, and just a little scratchy, Akira thought it was the most beautiful laugh in the entire world.

“Can I..” Goro would trail off, leaning towards Akira just a _bit_ more now. His eyes glanced towards the other’s lips just every so often, in a way reminiscent to a shy high school boy asking for his first kiss. Akira, in response, chuckled as he closed the gap between them.

“Always.”

* * *

It was a struggle: To stay in bed, or to get to work? Goro was leaning more towards the former, but that clock was ticking and he needed to board the next train getting back to his apartment ASAP. Either way he went about it, he knew his mind wouldn’t be able to stop playing the memories of the night before on repeat, anyway: the movies, and cuddling, and falling asleep on each other.. It was a nice way to end the night, what could he say?

Still, though, even as Akira’d groaned in protest as he was slid off of Goro’s figure, and even as he sat upright half-asleep in his bed amongst the covers, and even _as_ Goro gave his lips a small peck goodbye (for the day), he wouldn’t stop softly whining and half-heartedly voicing his complains. Clearly, Akira Kurusu was _not_ a morning person, and Goro found that cute.

“But you’re so _warm_,” the man, for the _nth_ time already, would whine, bleary, half-opened eyes staring at Goro from the sea of duvets and blankets he drowned in. Goro, who had been tying his hair back before the mirror that faced Akira’s bed, managed a laugh.

“And I _also_ have work today,” he’d counter, turning his head this way and that to assess his quick handiwork. When he was satisfied, he’d circle back to Akira’s side of the bed, lean in to give his cheek _another_ peck goodbye (because clearly this man-baby wouldn’t be satisfied with just _one_) and instead of his lips planting onto the warm, smooth skin of Akira’s face, he’d instead find himself in a deep, though sleepy, kiss.

Pulling back, he’d see Akira’s cheeks pinned as wide as he could get them, looking smug— if only he didn’t immediately yawn afterwards.

“I’ll see you later, you know that,” Goro chuckled, “Dinner at Leblanc. I’ll even bring you a pastry for work.”

And though it was with a huff, Akira finally relented, his head colliding with the pillow too quickly to show any more fight he had left in him. Goro, sitting on the edge of the bed, would give him just one _last_ peck on the lips, chin resting against the other’s chest though being careful not to let Akira’s arms encircle him, lest he’d _really_ be tempted to just get back into bed and sleep through the morning with the other.

“I’m going to the studio now. Bye.”

“_Mmrf_..”

A final laugh, before he was gone.

Goro knew he and Ann would have to bust ass to get to the studio after he’d arrived back in their apartment and changed into their dance clothes, but during the ride there, he couldn’t help but her of his date: Of Destinyland, of the rides, the fireworks display, the.. kiss on the gondola ride. _Oh_, did Ann now feel what Goro felt whenever _she_ would tell him about Shiho. She _did_ ask for him to tell her all the _juicy details_, but she wasn’t expecting a full-blown fairytale!

Either way, though, Ann expressed her joy for him, of a date gone well— Even though she _was_ a bit worried about him not coming home for the night, she trusted in Akira enough to know he would keep her best friend out of harm’s way. Besides, Akira Kurusu wouldn’t live another day if she saw a hair out of _place _on Goro’s head, anyway.

Goro laughed with her about that part, one hand pushing through the studio’s glass doors as they entered.

But oh, was the day interesting already.

Three men in black, uniform suits had stood in the lobby, and before Ann and Goro’s cheerful banter had echoed into the walls of Starlight Studio, they seemed to be drilling Miho (the studio’s receptionist) about something.. _someone_.

That someone, as Goro Akechi would quickly figure out, was none other than himself.

And the day just got _much_ more interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dA B S  
GUESS WHO'S BACK  
BACK AGAIN 
> 
> ok so SCHOOL IS WINDING DOWN Y'ALL. I CAN WRITE AGAIN AAAAAAAAAAA  
i am  
so insanely happy with this chapter like you cannot b e l i e v e  
i was on a r o l l  
and im !! im so happy i got the mojo back !!! so here's track 24 !!!! 
> 
> after the gigantic storm that was the past, like,,, five or six chapters, HERE IS HAPPINESS. HERE IS TH E M. THEY ARE HAPPY RIGHT NOW.  
I AM HAPPY RIGHT NOW AHAHA  
i'll see y'all on the next update kskkkks  
hopefully it comes out like  
next week ? i'll make it a goal lmao 
> 
> [twitter](http://twitter.com/relictionism) !! i post drabbles and updates on my writing there !! you can ask me stuff about anything over at my [curiouscat](http://curiouscat.me/eyrist) too ! 
> 
> listen list !!  
la vie en rose  
joji - sanctuary  
bruno major - easily  
snoh aalegra - fool for you


	27. Track 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pressure.

In the silence of the night (the time no earlier than two in the morning, last he checked) there was only ever supposed to be that— _silence. _

But things weren’t easy, they never were.  
He had grown accustomed to the slump of his body as he half-dragged himself back home, the ache in his muscles, the tiredness that washed over him like a tidal wave once the high of adrenaline eased out of his bloodstream. He’d long gotten used to nearly passing out from exhaustion, the cuts and the bruises, the jarring transition from every skyrise to the familiar neons of the red light district, from _Arsene_ to _Akira_.  
He could deal with those easy now, had adjusted so much in too short of a time for so long that it was second nature to him. In fact, at some point, he began to _revel_ in the split-second-quick changes that surrounded the sides of his life, the constant shapeshifting— the transitions of day to night, the not-so-slow bleed from persona to persona.

What he wasn’t used to, though, was a voice sending chills up his spine in the dead of night: When thief work was done and he could slip the mask off knowing he had to leave it behind for a little bit once again. What he wasn’t used to was stopping dead in his tracks mere _feet_ from the building that housed his club and his home, the back of his neck feeling impossibly cold yet sticky, and drenched with sweat that trickled over where sweat had already dried off and left a grime that clung to his skin.

Probably most of all, he wasn’t used to past jobs biting him in the ass, because it was just the sort of thing he, Futaba, and Morgana made sure _never_ happened. They tied up every loose end, left their heists with not a single trace of their lingering presence, of things they’d stolen and things they’d left behind.

So imagine his fucking surprise when there was a knife to his throat and a man that looked more _slippery fox _than _human_ at the opposite end of it.

“I admit, I didn’t think you’d be so thorough with the information you took from me,” he had said, just the tiniest lilt of _admiration_ in his tone, “But I guess that’s what makes you Arsene, isn’t it?”

Akira couldn’t stop trying to swallow from where he stood on the street, and it felt more like there was a rock being forced down his throat than spit. He eyed the man, studied him, tried to see who he fucked over so bad that they tracked him down— all the while, he trained his features to rest in neutral, eyes half-lidded in faux-boredom.

It was jarring to go back to being Akira after scaling rooftops as Arsene, at times, but it was another thing entirely to shove his exhaustion aside and force the mask back onto his face.

Metaphorically now, of course, because this little asshole (Akira could just _feel_ the air smelling of _bastard_ radiate off of him) has seen his face. He knew this could only end in one of two ways, and though Akira wasn’t planning on dying any time soon, he wasn’t exactly expecting the blade to disappear from where it previously poked the skin above his Adam’s apple. Like sleight of hand, the knife had vanished from sight— and yet, Akira caught its glint flash for just a _millisecond_ as it reflected the light of the lamppost across his home, just peeking under the too-large sleeve of the man’s fur-trim coat. Maybe it was a warning, or maybe the man wasn’t quick enough for Akira’s eyes.

Either way, he was wary, even when the man had bowed his head forwards, arms posed as if he was taking a bow for a show. It reminded Akira a little of himself, if he were to be honest here, and he didn’t exactly know how to feel about that.

But business was business.

“Nakura, at your service.”

The glint of a sharp smile shined in Akira’s eyes, a gaze so cutting that he steeled himself to even try to _begin_ wrapping his head around the situation. Nakura peered up at him like the cat that caught the canary, a shine in his stare that told of the insights he _knew_.

Maybe—No, not _maybe_—definitely knew about Akira Kurusu.

And that was probably when a pang of realisation hit Akira square in the jaw. He tried to school his face into hiding that he _knew_, but when that too-wide grin and too-slanted eyes faced him more upright now, it was apparent in the glint of his gaze that he was _sure _Akira realised exactly who he is.

December. The infiltration in the penthouse of an Ikebukuro apartment complex smack in the middle of the city.

He looked like a fox, if Akira had to describe him. Lanky, with long and slim limbs that seemed awkward even amongst his too-stretched torso. He looked like he drowned in the black, fur-trim coat he wore, something Akira swore was about three sizes too large on him. His hair was short though matted, but even with his dishevelled appearance, it looked almost purposefully-done.

It looked like he was trying to embody the chaos that he caused— and he was right about the passing thought he had, gazing down at a Shogi board littered with pieces of other boardgames that night.

He _was_ a slippery little bastard.

“What business do you have with me?” Akira decided to ask, keeping his tone even and clipped. If he was here to assassinate Akira for draining his computer of his precious information as an _information broker_, then it was only strange that he didn’t already do that when he had the tip of his knife poking Akira’s jugular. It was strange that he wasn’t already threatening him with everything he’s got, strange that he wasn’t lying in a pool of his own blood on the dirty asphalt of the street right then and there.

In response, Nakura had laughed. Akira felt his eye twitch and his jaw clench at the sound, a screeching reminiscent of nails grating against a chalkboard that echoed down the empty street. He howled in laughter and clutched his stomach, doubling forwards in his fit. When he was done with laughing, he looked Akira straight in the eyes with tears pooling at the corners of his own— amber irises glazed with pure _amusement_.

“Didn’t think you’d be so uptight, but alright. I’ll get to the good part, if only because I like your style.”

Akira found himself watching as Nakura slipped a hand into his coat, soon pulling out a folder and offering it to him. Cautiously, with muscles too-tense, he accepted the file. It took him a few seconds sending a pointed stare at the other before he deemed it was all— at least, for now. 

What looked back at him was a face in the upper-left corner, a photo paperclipped to a few papers. A profile of a man.

“I’ll get straight to the point here. I’m the biggest information broker on my side of Tokyo, and you’re the most infamous information thief in the entire prefecture. I need a— a _favour_.”

_Favour_, he said. Like he and Akira were buddies and Nakura wasn’t going to fuck him over the _second_ he’s finished this _favour_ of his. Akira knew his type (maybe even _too _well), and if all he’s heard of this _Nakura_ when they did research on him all those months ago was true, then he was the embodiment of chaos and setting shit up to fail just because he _felt_ like it. Just because he wanted to see what the people involved in his little experiments would do, how they would react.. The flash of emotions that painted their expressions in that split-second of realisation, at all the things around them falling apart at the tug and pull of _one_ man.

Akira only responded to the other with a click of his tongue, right as his eyes scanned over the most basic of information laid out before him: The things he needed to know for this so-called _favour_.

“I’ve had this.. this _playmate_ for a little bit now— and don’t get me wrong, I enjoy our little encounters—”

_Shunsuke Inui. Age 30. _

“—but you see, he’s been more of a pain in the ass than usual.”

_Blonde hair, always wears cheap sunglasses. Often seen around a sushi restaurant in downtown Ikebukuro. _

“And in short, I need you to _put him in place_, so to speak.”

_Personal bodyguard of Jinrou Majima, a mob boss operating in Shinjuku’s red light district. _

Akira glared up at the man, a pointed look with venom in his eyes.

“I’m not an assassin.”

“Oh, I know.” If he thought it was impossible for that grin to widen more than it already was, then he was dead wrong. “But you’ve already done this before, haven’t you?”

Goddammit, so he _did_ look into Akira.

“I’m sure you can perform that act one more time.”

It took a few moments of silently staring at the challenge in Nakura’s eyes before Akira found himself heaving a sigh, one hand coming up to massage his temple because he was _not_ in the mood to deal with this right now. He ran his eyes over the file once again, committing the face of this _Shunsuke Inui_ to mind, before his stare bore into the other man’s once more— more than just a _little_ irritated.

“Say I accept, what’s in it for me?”

_Your identity, maybe_, a sardonic voice in the back of his head supplied. Nakura only made to pull out a sleek, black flashdrive from his coat pocket, that too-wide, too-eerie grin never leaving his cheeks.

“We’re _friends_, aren’t we?”

_Hardly. I broke into your apartment and stole your shit then went on my merry damn way. _

“And I treat my friends well. You do me this favour, and I’ll keep _Akira Kurusu_ and _Joker _off every hungry broker looking to find who the mysterious _Arsene_ is.”

It’s then that he starts waving the flashdrive around, and Akira tried (he really did) not to follow the movement with his eyes, but it got him curious.

“I’m sure you’ve heard I deal with more.. _underground_ things. Yakuza, the Korean mafia in Tokyo..” Akira had a bad feeling about the pause Nakura left in the air, just wanting to see if Akira was interested _enough_ to take whatever bait he was dangling above him— whatever was in that black flashdrive. “.. Foreign research facilities and companies.”

Nakura pocketed the device again, a hum now echoing from the broker as he stuffed his hands into his coat. He regarded Akira with interest spelled clear in his eyes, like he was looking over a piece on the chessboard.

Akira had no doubt he was going to be used in whatever game he’s playing— maybe not now, maybe after this _favour_ was done, but he had an inkling in his gut that being associated with this man now meant nothing but _trouble_.

“Wakaba Isshiki, wasn’t it?”

His heart dropped.  
It was hard to believe in his mind that his composure hadn’t been broken, if only a bit. His mask cracked at the edges at the mention of that name, the one that he and Futaba had spent years upon _painful _years looking into, trying to find— Trying to uncover the truth of.  
He felt the beads of sweat trickle down the side of his neck, could feel the bow-string tightness of his muscles. His eyes had hardened as he stared more and more at Nakura, his vision zeroing in on the other, _daring_ him to go further as the man showcased once more that wicked Cheshire grin.

“A brilliant woman, really. She’s good at what she does, and she can do a _lot_.”

The footfalls rang far too loud in Akira’s ears as Nakura began to step closer and closer to him. He could hear his heart run a mile a minute the moment he’d stopped by his side, and all too suddenly, there was a hair’s breadth of space between the shell of his ear, and Nakura’s voice.

And there, he saw a tinge of red colouring the corner of his eyes as the broker spoke— A big, flashing warning sign that yelled “_DANGER_.”

“I have leads on her, and I’m willing to throw those in as a bonus.”

With that, the man once more started on his leave, easily detaching himself from Akira’s side and being on his merry damn way down the street.

“I like you, y’know. You’re an asshole but I can see you care about something _I_ still give a very particular fuck about.”

Akira turned his head, eyes trained over his shoulder as the man seemed to stop just a ways away, next to one of the many branching alleyways of this particular area in the red light district. It was such a quick pause, an insignificant little misstep, even—something Akira wouldn’t even have caught if he didn’t think to watch his back— But when he howled that grating laugh once more as he continued on his stride, Akira felt a chill creep up his spine.

When Nakura’s silhouette disappeared down the streets, it was only then that a shudder of a breath clawed its way into his lungs. Akira gazed back down upon the folder left in his gloved hands, his brows knitting in both _conflict_ and _careful hope_.

Fuck, he really didn’t have a choice in this, did he?

He made his way back to the steps of his apartment, and the moment he stepped inside, Futaba was on him like a hound. She had heard the entire thing through his earpiece.

It was going to be a long fucking day tomorrow, he could just _feel _it.

He felt it the moment he sat down and spread the files over the coffee table.

Could feel it the second he had stood in front of his door again that night.

Felt it when he felt cold eyes boring into the back of his neck after Nakura left.

* * *

Akira looked himself over in the bathroom mirror, and he can barely recognise the man that’s staring back at him.

He’s always been able to maintain how lithe and slender he was, able to hide his muscles underneath just large-enough shirts and baggy pants. Now, as he stood there (pulling down the familiar black jacket with the red buttons, tugging at the white turtleneck around his throat where two arrows pointed upwards) he looked less _man _and more _boy_.

Futaba always liked to call him a _twink_, though, with his big eyes and shy, boyish features. As he studied his reflection further, he was starting to see why, and after slipping back into the old uniform he’d buried under old clothes and boxes, maybe he was just proving her point further.

But this wasn’t about that right now; This was about getting this entire favour over with already.

With one final muss of his hair (making his bangs fall even messier above the thick rim of his glasses, much like how he used to do in high school) he stepped out into the living room.  
The shine of the late afternoon sun cast upon his eyes through the windows of the apartment as he made his way over to his seat beside the couch. Once sat, he stared down upon the schoolbag branded with the same, familiar logo, the one that always reminded Akira of police officers and prison.

After all, _Shujin_ was the exact same word for _prisoner_.

“Let’s go over this one more time,” Futaba would mumble, the screen of her laptop now turned to Akira.

“Majima’s hideout is just a little farther from here, closer to the edge of the red light district. All _you_ need to do is rile them up.” A snicker, goodhearted and just the thing to lift the mood a bit, just a little. “And we both know it’s not going to take much for mafia wannabes to crack. You’re good at pissing people off, but try not to overdo it, okay?”

At that, Akira found himself chuckling as he nodded. He reached for the cheap burner phone on the table, his glasses reflecting the shine of the screen when he pressed the on button.

“We’ll do this exactly like last time. You piss them off enough to get the phone taken, and then it’s easy just getting them to ramble off about their power high. I’ll have it all on record, and we threaten blackmail.”

“Like old times,” Akira nodded.

Futaba shifted the laptop back to herself, a devilish grin creeping up her cheeks.

“Like old times.”

And it was just as easy as back then.

Akira had slipped out of his apartment and straight into the alleyways once he had the schoolbag on his shoulder and the phone in his pocket. He kept his head down, kept his hands in his pockets. Enough people recognised him here, but thankfully the contour makeup he learned how to use from Ann helped in thinning his cheeks just a bit, in making his jawline less pronounced and softer. He kept the bags under his eyes, though, if only to fit the look now that the school year should be in full swing.

But hey, even at the very beginning (all the way to the bitter end) it was Hell on Earth for him at Shujin, so what did he know?

It didn’t take too long before he found himself stumbling out into the open just at a healthy distance into the mouth of the red light district, though. He tried to act startled as he walked through the familiar streets, let his eyes widen in half-amazement and half-shock at all the _scandalous_, sinful things that littered each corner as he trudged through the growing crowd, slouching and trying to make himself seem small— which was never really a difficult thing for him, even as he stood at a tall 5’10”.

The entire time, he knew he was being watched.  
There were gazes cast his way, at this familiar face yet with softened features and the bulky glasses he never wore in Shinjuku. He passed by Chihaya, caught the surprised widen of her eyes as he walked past. He almost lost himself a bit then, a little chuckle reverberating in his throat when it almost seemed as if she saw a ghost.

The ghost of that boy from Shujin, maybe— the one whose cards were a mess and whose future spelled ruin no matter how many times she shuffled the deck.

But aside from the few familiar faces he saw as he walked further and further down into the district, he saw thugs glance at him, men in tacky suits that whispered amongst themselves as he passed by, seeming as if he was looking for something— for _someone_.

Because apparently, it was happening again.

There was a vague memory in the back of his head about their second case, the last one before Morgana stepped into their lives.  
Junya Kaneshiro was a mob boss much like Jinrou Majima, operating within the red light district and seeking out naïve high schoolers for his “_special jobs_.” When he was still a high schooler himself, he’d heard rumours about them mixed along with the gossip about _him_. The gossip mill said it paid good and it was _easy_; What no one talked about was how it was a straight shot down to Hell, the beginning of how lives were entangled upon an inescapable web of drugs, sex, and being tied down like a dog under the mafia.

That was what made him want to damn Junya Kaneshiro to the deepest depths of Hell— and when they finished with that, was probably when miss Student Council President began hounding his ass.

He knew the woman with eyes too cold and a demeanour too demeaning followed him around in high school sometimes, knew that she was probably looking to dig up dirt on him to get him in even deeper shit than a one-year probation period. She watched him like a goddamn hawk in the hallways, was ready to jump the gun the exact _moment _he fucked up something in his second year. He just never expected her to _still_ be out for blood even after becoming the top graduate at her police academy.

And it made him wonder sometimes what she was so adamant to find out about him.

Time to wonder on it got cut short when two men (with tattoos meant to intimidate peeking out from under the cheap suits they wore, hair with so much gel that Akira thought it looked more like a shiny, sticky mop than anything) stepped in his way.

“Where ya goin’, _boy_?”

_God, this is going to be a long fucking two hours. _

Akira kept his eyes to the ground.

“I.. I heard there were people offering jobs around here and I really need the money, so..”

When he chanced a glance at both of them, he found the two, burly men exchanging looks with each other— and he could only feign a flinch when one of them clapped a hand to his shoulder, grip tight.

“Well, why didn’tcha say so!” the one holding him had exclaimed, a bright smile on his features. He _reeked_ of cheap cigars, and it made Akira want to _gag_. “Lucky for _you_, our boss’s lookin’ for strong, young boys like ya! We can take ya straight ta ‘im!”

His eyes widened, shock and naiveté feigned on his face easily.

_That’s right, just keep reeling them in_.

“_Really_?!”

Akira made to bow deeply.

“_Thank you so much_!”

He couldn’t let them see the grin that crept wider and wider up his cheeks.

The car ride down the rest of the way was fairly quiet, with Akira stuck in the middle of the backseat between the two men. He did his best to look both anxious _and_ excited, his eyes carefully watching the sights and buildings they passed. At some point, he even caught a glimpse of the street leading to his club, fought to keep the smile off his lips then.

Futaba was hearing everything in that moment, though muffled as it was with the burner phone in his pocket. She bugged the it for both audio and video again (like old times) and maybe to just tease the fact that he even had a phone on him, he’d decided to pull it out of his pocket just before they reached their destination.

* * *

**You (sent 16:48)  
Hey mom! You don’t have to worry about paying for Akira’s hospital fees anymore!!**

* * *

He was sure Futaba burst out laughing the _moment_ he hit send on the text. He himself couldn’t even stop his lips from quivering into a little smile, but he let that stay on his cheeks— especially when one of the men peered over to his screen and snorted a small laugh.

“You doin’ this for your mom, kid?”

At that, Akira began to nod in fervour and _earnest_.

“Yeah! I don’t want her to worry about me or my brother. We can handle ourselves!”

And that seemed to spark something dark behind the thug’s eyes, right as Akira once more pocketed the device.

“Don’t you worry that cute little head’o yours, kid,” he would say, and Akira could just _hear_ the disgusting intent dripping from his voice, “She won’t hafta worry about _you_ anymore.”

Mere minutes passed before vehicle soon stopped before a club—a _very_ familiar club, he noted—and Akira was ushered out the car. He was escorted straight to the back door, through a few hallways and up a flight of stairs. Once the dimmed, purple lights and the U-shaped leather couch came into view.. Well, it was like déjà vu slapped him in the face.

But instead of a man with features too small for his rounded face, there, before a pile of what looked to be cocaine and whiskey, sat a tall, built man, with his brows furrowed down in distaste and his lips turned into a deep frown. Akira watched as metal dangled and shone in the purple light from the ears of the man, pierced all around.

“What the fuck is this?”

The question was directed towards the thugs that stood just behind him, no doubt guarding the exit in case Akira tried to make a run for it. Akira opted to keep his eyes directly off the drugs or the alcohol, nor from the hard glare the man he could only assume to be Jinrou Majima directed at him, specifically.

He stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, on full display of the mob boss that sat with legs splayed and with his arms spread across the backrest of the couch.

Now, to think of how he’ll go about this.

“I’m— I’m willing to do anything!” he said, voice just shaky _enough_ as he bowed his head deeply at the man. “I’ll work hard!”

“Well, there ya go, Boss,” one of the thugs chuckled, and from his peripheral, Akira could see him gesture towards his bowed figure. “A little birdie looking for work.”

There was a beat of silence that passed by them, Akira keeping his head low as he counted the seconds. When a pair of footsteps reached his ears, he opted to glance up— Only to see blonde hair styled in wild spikes, features (though, admittedly, _handsome_) hardened across a barely-supressed snarl, and scars running across the hands that reached an envelope out to Majima.

_Inui_, his mind supplied.

_There we go, the party all together_.

Akira watched as Inui whispered something into the mob boss’ ear, right before he stood straight behind the man with hands behind his back and his stare trained at him. There were another pair of eyes on him now, and he had to play his cards right if he wanted to do what he came here to do.

_Ruin_ them.

“You.” Majima’s voice had gone just a tad softer then, almost like he was approaching a scared kitten. It was hard to miss the change in his tone. “Let me look at your face.”

Accordingly, Akira raised his head. His eyes settled on a spot of the cushioned, velvet wall between Majima and his bodyguard, if only to seem like he couldn’t look them in the eyes.

“What’s your name?”

“Ren—” he blurted, a perfect lie. “Ren Amamiya.”

“Ren, hm?”

And then, there was something there now, in the eyes of the mob boss. Akira saw the intent the _moment_ it’d leaked into his gaze, and he schooled his features not to return the glares he’d been getting.

He held his own arms down, if only to stop himself from punching the other square in the face.

“Such a pretty name for a pretty face.”

** _Here_ ** _ we go. _

“It would be a waste to have you be a drug runner for me, Ren— such a waste for a cute boy like you.”

By the time Akira brought it in himself to purse his lips and (faux-tentatively) bring his gaze over to Majima, the man’s lips had pulled into a smile, and yet, it might have been one of the most disgusting things he’d ever had the displeasure to bear witness to himself.  
It was salacious, in a word. He looked over Akira’s figure hidden beneath the old school uniform up and down, running his eyes over every curve where the fabric tightened around his body. Akira brought his hands to grip onto the strap of the schoolbag, apprehensive, _careful_.

“I don’t— I don’t understand, sir.”

_Hook. _

Took a calculated step back.

“But then again, you don’t belong in any of my brothels, do you?”

_Line. _

Shoved his hand into his pocket.

“I’m going to—”

Pulled out his phone, angled it enough for the camera to get both Majima and Inui in the frame.

_Sinker. _

“I’m going to call the police!”

A laugh.

Majima’s laugh was loud, an annoying sound that dragged on and on, starting up all over again after it seemed to die off. It rang in Akira’s ears, made his eye twitch and a snarl make its way to his lips.

In a second, he felt the phone slip out of his hand by Inui, who’d rounded the couch and all too quickly stepped up to Akira. It was the perfect shot of big, burly Shunsuke Inui coming up to him.

Once Inui had handed the device off to Majima, there was a flash that went off in his face.

“There we go, something to remember you by while you still have that cute face of yours.”

And all too suddenly, there were hands on his arms now, and Akira made to half-assedly struggle.

“Take him out back and take care of him, will you?”

He was dragged out of there.

* * *

Akira heard his shoulder pop as he stretched his arms upwards, his neck stretching out to the right as he walked the quiet trek back to his home. It’d been a while since he went against two guys head-on, but they were no trouble for him once he found his rhythm again— and also tore his jacket.

He’d filled out and grown a bit more since high school, what can he say? It’s not like he’d need to use the damn uniform again anyway, it was fine.

Just a shame he had to use old reliable to strangle one of the guys unconscious, though.

It didn’t take too long before he found himself climbing the steps to his apartment, even less before he dropped the school bag on the coffee table and he was slumped on his seat with a fresh shiner and aching legs. Futaba, who was busy working away with the audio and little video that they got, didn’t even notice him until Akira got up to get a bag of ice from the fridge.

“Oh, hey! How’d it— _Oh_.”

“_Yeah_.”

He pressed it to his eye once he was slumped into a tired mess on the chair again. The faint clicking of Futaba’s constant typing provided a nice, ambient background noise as Akira relaxed into his seat, breaths coming out deep and even through his lips and head replaying the events of the past three hours. He was _glad_ he still had two hours before club prep began, to say the least. Maybe he could take a power nap until then.

Mona jumped onto his lap and began purring onto his chest, letting out soft little mewls to get his attention.

“Oh, that reminds me— Morgana dropped by while you were out.”

Akira’s one good eye snapped open.

“On a _Thursday_?”

“_Yup_!” She continued editing the evidence as she spoke, “Said Haru wants to talk to us again about something. Next Wednesday, all three of us.”

Akira hummed. “Do you think it might be about the trip?”

“Could be,” she shrugged, up until her face lit up with one final click on her trackpad. “And there we go! All sent and ready for the taking!" 

"Made sure to mention Inui's brother to him, right?" 

Futaba stuck her tongue out at him. 

"Of _course_." 

It was pretty essential to their plan, and to finish the favour. Apparently, Inui cared about his little brother, who was an up-and-coming actor with too much press on him already. What would little Shunichi Inui think of his ever-dependable big brother being involved in.. less _savoury _business?

"Alright, now what about we kick back and relax with some video ga—!"

There was a knock at the door.

A second or two passed in which he and Futaba merely _stared_ at each other, silent gazes questioning if there were people to be expected from the other. Amidst the silence, Mona let out a particularly-loud mewl, right before the cat hopped off of Akira’s lap and pranced up to the front door.

With a final look cast over to his sister, Akira bobbed his head in a quick nod before he himself stood up and approached the entrance to his home, ice bag to his eye and steps quiet.

Carefully, right as another three knocks rang into the air, he peered into the peephole.

“_What the fuck—_”

And hissed under his breath when he saw cold, red eyes on the other side, a glare as sharp as ever underneath the brown hair and police hat she wore.

“Mister Kurusu?” the woman called out, her tone as demanding and demeaning as ever. “This is Officer Nijima. I’d like to have a word with you.”

“Shit, it’s the _fuzz—_”

Akira backed away from the door, shushing his sister as he did. With eyes widened in alarm, Futaba grabbed her laptop and ran into her room in record speed, leaving him alone with his cat pawing at the front door, and a specific police officer he _really_ did not want to see on the other side— Especially not in his state now, with a brand new black eye and wearing his old school uniform.

“I’m not—” He can’t believe he was going to say this, but it was for the greater good. “I’m not _decent_.”

“It’s urgent, Mister Kurusu.”

_She’s not going to let me go, is she? _

Akira suppressed a groan.

“Alright, just.. Give me five minutes.”

The police officer had stood there, leaning on the rails of the staircase, when Akira emerged from the front door in the clothing he’d donned before this afternoon, sans makeup and ice bag now. She looked at him how a predator would stalk their prey, eyes sharp and focused— _Cold_, as he always thought they were, though he caught that hint of surprise that painted her usually-hardened demeanour when they cast over his black eye.

“I ran into a pole drunk,” he muttered, if only to get the slightest bit of judgment off her face.

Akira bit back his tongue when the words “_So what will you charge me with **this** time?_” teased on his lips.

“Is there something I can help you with, officer?” he decided to ask then, when all the woman did was regard him with that same contempt in her stare.

“Actually, there is.” She straightened up, arms crossing over her chest. “There have been missing person cases popping up left and right at the station, and most of them—students, may I inform you—were last seen in the red light district. Have you heard rumours about “special jobs” being passed around here, Mister Kurusu?”

By golly, Akira can’t say he _hasn’t_.

“I’ve heard what most people have heard, officer— That the work is easy and that the pay is good. I don’t know what exactly this miracle job is, but it doesn’t sound like anything _good_.”

At that, Nijima pulled out a notebook from the black, leather satchel hanging off her shoulder. Once it was opened and presented to him, Akira found his eyes going over names and ages, photos attached to each one.

“Have you seen any of these people around, then?”

He shook his head.

“My club is pretty far from the main streets of the red light district. No high schooler is bound to end up here unless they were _looking_ for The Metaverse.”

“Then, there’s one more thing I’d like to ask you,” she said, tucking the notebook back into her satchel. The officer looked Akira straight in the eye as she spoke, her words just equal parts _prodding_ and _threatening_. “Do you remember the same thing happening when you were attending Shujin Academy?”

_Here we **fucking** go again. _

“I think? I heard one or two things about “special jobs” back when I was in high school, _right_ next to the rumours of how I’d attack everyone within a five-foot distance from me.”

Yeah, maybe Akira should practise biting his tongue more.

That didn’t seem to deter the look on Nijima’s face, though, not when she kept speaking.

“Back then, it just _stopped_ one day. The perpetrators were arrested due to evidence being sent to the police, but not before everyone in the entire _school_ was sent an email about threatening the mob boss behind it all. Junya Kaneshiro was arrested three days after that.

“Surely, you’ve seen the news, Mister Kurusu? The CEO of New Era Entertainment was arrested last year, due to evidence of exploitation being sent to us. The source of it, we’ve never found, but it’s almost exactly the same M.O. as when Junya Kaneshiro was arrested, and the _multiple _other cases like it that came after— An email threatening blackmail if a confession wasn’t made, or evidence of such being spread across the media and being sent to the authorities.”

Akira shifted a bit where he stood in front of his door, keeping his expression as normal as he could. He wasn’t entirely sure why the officer was telling him all this, if only because he didn’t want to jump on the first conclusion that popped into his head— But maybe, just _maybe_, she knew. She knew who was behind the blackmail and sending evidence, who Akira Kurusu turns into late into the night, who the people involved are.

He didn’t want that to be what this was about, because being paranoid would only make him tense up even _more_.

“Why are you telling me this, _Officer Nijima_?”

“We’re getting close to finding out who the people behind this are.”

Well _that_ just ruined his day.

Akira forced a smile onto his face.

“Congratulations.”

* * *

Akira hasn’t left the shower for maybe a good hour now. His stare was directed at the wall below the showerhead, the rain of hot water long frozen over to cold pellets on his skin. He hasn’t stopped thinking about what to do _next_, how to go about this, what his move should be now that he’s effectively been put in _check_— Not by Shido, either, but by.. _everything_, basically.

There was still Nakura to worry about. _Wakaba Isshiki_ to look into. The last two heists they had to do before sending their warning to Shido. There might even be _Nijima_ to convince, maybe, just try to see if he could spin the tale well enough not to turn them in— Or at least, just _him_.  
What happens next if (_when_) the police start barging down his door? When he’s called in as a suspect? He’s thought of ways to go about this before, of course, but there were too many people now— people that _will_ be called in. People that _will_ be hurt. People that _will_ be targeted if his name and face are public knowledge branded under a shiny collar marked with “_Arsene_.”

He has to _think_. What was the solution? What was their Ace in the hole?

A knock on the bathroom door shook him out of his thoughts.

“Akira?” Futaba had called, “Ryuji found a package outside. It’s for you.”

Shit, was it already 8?

“Got it. Thanks, Futaba.”

He shut off the water.

Stepping out of the shower, Akira found himself staring into the bathroom mirror again. He saw how tired his eyes had become, how dark the bruise around his right one was. He saw the slump of his shoulders and the frown that looked permanently-fixed onto his features.

_Fuck. **Fuck**. _

He had to get his act together here, even if only for however long he had to do what he wanted.

Akira wandered back into his bedroom after changing into the clothes he picked for another night of DJ-ing, as well as dabbing a little (read: a _lot_) concealer on his black eye. Immediately, his eyes were drawn to the package sitting on the foot of his bed, a small box wrapped in black wrapping paper and tied with a bright, red bow. He meant to leave it there until the night at The Metaverse ended, but after he gathered his headphones and laptop off the work station in the corner of his room, he stopped.

He was too curious. He didn’t need another thing clogging his mind as he worked. Maybe he’d even forget about it when he (inevitably) comes upstairs nearly blackout drunk. 

So he settled down the laptop as he sat next to the box, headphones resting around his neck as he picked up the small package. Carefully, his fingers pulled on one end of the bow, unravelling the neat tie before he dug into the wrapping paper.

Once he lifted the cover off the box, there, sat before his eyes, was the sleek, black flashdrive Nakura had once held just a night ago. He kept his promise.

Before Akira had completely disregarded the box after pocketing the flashdrive, though, he saw it—a card—simple and white with almost too-intricate swirls for the writing on it.

_For you, Phantom Thieves. The truth. _

Akira almost couldn’t believe it was Nakura’s writing on this. He couldn’t quite stop himself from re-reading it, though.

_The Phantom Thieves_.

It had a nice ring to it.

When Akira dropped by Futaba’s room, he handed the woman the flashdrive and left her to greedily look through the contents Nakura left them (the supposed “_truth_”) before he flicked the lights on for the club and bound down the staircase. In his hands, he had his laptop and the key to the entrance.

Around his neck, his headphones and a necklace— the red mask pendant glinting as its shiny surface reflected the light of the moon and the strobelights of The Metaverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :^  
ok so i k n o w im late  
b u t  
it's april !! it's almost been a year since i started writing m&m !! :^D  
so i thought i'd at least,, update lmao 
> 
> some stuff !!  
[B Sides](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23530888/chapters/56436715) is a collection of side stories next to m&m. ever wanted to know what happened from a different perspective in the fic? go comment your suggestions on that and i'll probably write it lmao  
a n d a l s o  
something i'm really excited for  
i made a [visual thread](https://twitter.com/relictionism/status/1248252681065361408) for m&m !! aesthetics and visuals i associate with each character, plus a look into what comes to my mind when i try to write them. i'm going to add more, of course, but what do y'all associate with each character ? it could be objects or feelings, but let me know !! :^0 
> 
> and with t h a t, i'm going back to writing track 26 lmao  
thanks for reading !! 
> 
> listen list !!  
stelouse - shivers n gold  
yann tiersen - comptine d`un autre ete


	28. Track 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> quiet times, together.

It’s raining for the first time in months. Akira supposes he should be happy about that, but as he stood within the walls of his apartment (a cup of coffee in one hand and the constant of Futaba’s typing filling the air) his thoughts are a jumble.

It’s been a few days since the whole fiasco with Nakura’s favour and Nijima’s just beneath-the-surface threat aimed very specifically at him. They’re going to be meeting with Haru in two more nights, too, and standing in front of the window then, watching as the rain pattered against the windows, he’s just about run over how to explain the situation and one possible solution he has under his belt over a hundred times already.

With how heavy the rain is getting, though, he might have to close The Metaverse tonight. He already has Ryuji and Yusuke’s pay lined up (for maybe more than just this month alone), so it wouldn’t impact them too much.

Hopefully.

A sigh slipped past his lips.

_I’m fucking this up too much._

“Hey, uh.. How’s that going for you?”

Now, Akira usually didn’t mind silence lingering in the air. The quiet eased him (maybe just a little bit more than conversations did) but he knew it was doing more harm than good for his mental well-being, if only _now_ of all times. He had to keep himself in one piece here for just a _little_ longer.

“Nakura has a lot more shit than we thought,” Futaba hummed, back turned to him as she slouched against the sofa, “Like.. a _lot_ lot more. Like, have you ever heard of Aerial Pharmaceuticals?”

Akira glanced at her from the corner of his eye, his lips pursing into a tight line. The name, he hasn’t seen at _all_ before, but it brought a chill up his spine, a bad feeling to fester within his gut.

“No.”

“Take a look at this.”

Futaba angled the screen up to him once the DJ had padded over to her, bent at the waist with his cup resting on the edge of the backrest as he looked over the photo on the screen.  
It was reminiscent to the hospital logos he’s seen— Serpents encircling a winged figure with three infant angels on either side of the man-like silhouette. What was most notable, perhaps, was the golden mane that stuck out from the figure’s head: puffy with long, stray locks sticking out in an almost-artistic sense. It looked as if it blended into the beard of the man, just underneath of which looked to be a golden rod that he held in his left hand.

The figure’s hair reminded him of a lion. Strangely enough, it reminded him more of a novel’s presumed-antagonist those many months ago, as he stood within a book shop in Central Street with Ann, Shiho, and Goro. The thin, red stripes of the cover flashed to Akira’s mind, as well as the golden statue he could picture with almost-perfect clarity in his mind’s eye.

_Weird_.

“Aerial Pharmaceuticals, a drug development company based in Germany. Their motto is “_to soar above and reach the Heavens_.””

“Thus, _aerial_, I guess.”

Futaba bobbed her head into a single nod.

“Yeah, but it’s a cover-up.”

“_Of_ course.” Akira tilted his head to the side as Futaba scrolled further down the document detailing Aerial Pharmaceuticals. “So, what did Nakura have on this?”

“Well, for one, they weren’t _just_ developing medicine..”

A photo of a building passed by Akira’s eyes.

“They have a base out in Nagano, funded solely by Shido himself..”

And then Futaba backed out into a folder that housed five more: Each labelled with “_Phase One_” all the way to “_Phase Five_.”

“And they did human experimentation on _cognitive psience_, with my mom leading the research.”

There was a beat of silence until Akira heard a hiss in the back of his head— and he only ever realised it was him under his breath once Futaba’s ever-watchful eyes flashed his way. Her lips were turned into a deep frown, and Akira saw the crease between her furrowed brows, the tension strung tight like a bowstring across her shoulders. Futaba would always try to stay tough, strived to let nothing affect her anymore when she’d already gone through her own personal brand of Hell— and yet, there was just the slightest quiver in her lips, something behind her eyes tearing at the seams.

“All my life, I never knew what _exactly_ my mom did for a living to take care of me..” she muttered, voice even yet echoing with that distant, bitter clarity. She propped her knees to her chest then, laptop balanced precariously atop so, “.. And now here we are, with answers.. I think I regret it.”

“Futaba..”

“I saw some of the stuff in Phase One to Phase Three. There’re video logs of each research subject’s progress under their biggest project.” She shook her head, and it was then that Akira saw the small tremors in her shoulders— ones that, he knew, weren’t brought from the chill of the outside creeping up her arms. “It’s.. It’s not _good_, Akira. I heard my mom talking to them so.. so _distantly_. She sounded so _cold_, I almost didn’t believe it was _her. _They were injecting drugs and questioning them like they weren’t _human_. They were treating them like _disposable lives_.

“They were experimenting on _orphanage kids_.”

Silence lingered in the air for a minute. Two minutes. _Too many_ minutes. It was hard to swallow the truth, hard to stop his eyes from widening and his brows from slanting downwards. It was hard not to gape in silent shock and _rage_, so very difficult not to run out in that exact moment and shoot Masayoshi Shido in the face _right_ in that instant.  
From what they’d found on him (the money laundering, the drugs, the _Yakuza_ and the media manipulation, not to mention all those people he had strung around his web so he could run them dry of all the _resources _he could get from them before _taking care _of them) there wasn’t _anything_ that could step up to _this_. There wasn’t anything that could step up to _playing God_— To toying with human lives and human minds and human bodies like they were _replaceable_.

On _children_, no less.

Akira let himself breathe in and out for a moment, a string of deep inhales and exhales that fanned warmth across his bottom lip. Slowly, _carefully_, he eased himself out of the spark of rage that exploded into a blazing fire within him, choosing to focus instead on putting a hand to his sister’s shoulder.

Maybe they needed a break from this, if only for a night. It was starting to become too heavy of a weight on Futaba with the revelation of her mother doing things she never could’ve _expected_ from the woman she loved and admired so much— who she spent hours, upon days, upon months, upon _years_ mourning and grieving the disappearance of.

Gods knew Akira only saw just _barely_ the half of her sorrow.

“Go home for today, Futaba,” he said, voice carrying that gentle firmness that told he wouldn’t let her say _no_, “Get some rest. You and Yusuke could spend some time together, just..”

There was a sigh there, just barely breathed out from his lips when he squeezed his sister’s shoulder.

“Take a break from all of.. _this_ right now, okay?”

Futaba didn’t object. They were out the apartment in just ten minutes.

Escorting her back to Leblanc had been a mostly-quiet time, with one of Akira’s arms encircled around the small woman’s shoulders to keep her close and protected, whilst his other hand held up a black umbrella they fit just snugly under.  
His sister’s eyes were cast onto the wet asphalt for most of the duration, watching as each raindrop met with the puddles that’d gathered on the streets and by the stations. Yongen-Jaya, even under the rain, glowed with its comforting, familiar lights when they wound up in the backstreets, and it served to at least ease both of their tensions by just a little bit as they walked to the Sakura household.

At the front door, Akira looked on from under the umbrella as he watched Futaba unlock the entrance, one last glance cast his way before she made to retreat inside.

But, not without one final word exchanged between them. 

“You’re with me on this to the end, right?” Futaba had asked, her voice meek and just barely heard above the cry of rain pattering against the ceilings and streets around them.

There was no hesitation in his words and his heart.

“I’m with you,” Akira nodded, eyes locked with hers, his gaze bearing a firmness and determination that he only hoped assured her, “To the end.”

When the front door closed behind her petite figure, Akira turned to step out the gate and be sure to lock it behind him, afterwards pulling out his phone as he stood just outside their fence.

* * *

**You (sent 13:41)  
hey**

**You (sent 13:41)  
club’s closed tonight. i think the streets might flood with how hard the rain’s going so, just to be safe.**

**paint enthusiast (sent 13:42)  
Thank you for the notice, Akira. I ask that you stay safe. It looks like a heavy storm is upon us.**

**You (sent 13:44)  
thanks yusuke**

**You (sent 13:45)  
actually, i have a favour to ask**

**paint enthusiast (sent 13:45)  
What may I assist you with?**

**You (sent 13:45)  
can you check up on futaba, if you can? she looks..**

* * *

Akira heard himself sigh.

* * *

**You (sent 13:46)  
she’s in a really bad place right now. i thought maybe you’d be able to help her more than i can.**

**paint enthusiast (sent 13:46)  
I understand. Thank you for letting me know.**

* * *

It was quick work to notify Ryuji next that the club would be closed, and after pocketing his phone, Akira found himself standing amongst the backstreets awkwardly.

Well, he didn’t have much lined up for the rest of the day now that his club was going to be closed for a night. He’d already finished producing a good number of songs for the month, he didn’t have today’s shift at Leblanc, and _maybe_ he shouldn’t go back home alone to dwell within the walls about.. _everything_. Again.

Within his bag, Mona whined.

“Ah sorry, buddy,” he mumbled, patting the seam where the zipper kept his cat inside. “You wanna go hang out with Sojiro? You like Sojiro, right?”

What sounded like a happy _meow_ sounded out from his bag, and Akira could only chuckle as he patted where Mona’s back was before he started walking the way to the café.

At least, that was until he saw brown hair peeking underneath a clear umbrella, his visage turned murky under the patter of rain on plastic.

And yet still, Goro Akechi looked beautiful.

“Oh, Akira!” the man had beamed, and Akira felt his heart swell with warmth at the way those red eyes brightened to life, a smile pulling up so perfectly from the corners of his lips and decorating his face in that so-earnestly-happy expression he so loved seeing on Goro.

“Hey, angel.” Akira winked, could only barely-stifle a laugh once Goro rolled his eyes, fast approaching him in front of the space where an old secondhand shop once stood, all those years ago.

The kiss that met their lips was sweet, though chaste as it was, and the man felt his worries slip away to a corner in the back of his head, melting under the warmth of Goro’s skin seeping into his. Their umbrellas bumped together just slightly in their haste, but even as Akira felt pellets of rain bounce into the locks of his hair and slide onto his nape, anything was worth it if it meant feeling his boyfriend’s lips on his.

Goro was a drug that sent serotonin straight to Akira’s tired brain, and by _Gods_ if Akira wasn’t addicted already.

“I just came from Leblanc,” Goro laughed, eyes glancing just ever so briefly at the passage that led to said café, “I was hanging out with Ryuji.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh _yes_.” A sly look cast over those stunning red eyes then, mischief and trouble rolled into one spread onto his face and topped off with just the _right_ amount of seduction.

_Fuck_, Akira was weak for that look.

“Who would’ve thought cute, quiet Akira Kurusu dressed up as a maid in high school?”

Akira blanked his expression, tone even and clipped.

“That didn’t happen.”

“Oh, those photos of your school festival _definitely_ say otherwise.”

“That did _not_ happen.”

“But that tall maid with the three-inch stilettos looked _so_ much like you, Akira!”

“_That did not happen._”

“Yeah, and that wasn’t your signature wink on the cutest maid’s face.”

Okay, Akira broke at that. A smile twitched up one side of his lip, eyes closing for just the briefest of seconds before he moved to stand under Goro’s umbrella— _Much _closer than was necessary.

“You saying I’m cute, angel?” he mumbled, voice husked and lips just ghosting over the shell of Goro’s ear, “I don’t know, but that sounds kinda gay, don’t you think?”

“Akira, we’re _dating_,” Goro laughed.

“I don’t know, that sounds _pretty_ gay, too.”

“_You’re_ gay!”

“Damn right I am.”

A burst of laughter erupted from Goro then, and it wasn’t too long after that Akira’s shoulders shook with his own chuckles and snickers, their voices mixing with the sound of the shower around them. Closing his own umbrella, Akira took Goro’s free hand in his, bringing up the man’s knuckles to his lips and, with a smile, would look into his boyfriend’s eyes.

“Remember what I said when I was asking for your number here, the first time we met?”

“That it would be raining if only I “_stuck to the script_,”” he snickered, nodding, “Well, it’s raining _now_, isn’t it?”

Akira hummed a happy note, a smile stretching up his cheeks.

“I hope you know that left a lasting impression on me.”

“Oh?”

There it was, that perfect, dorky smile, all teeth and joy peering through his eyes. Akira loved seeing that grin on Goro.

“It pretty much destroyed my idea of Joker being the cool, charming Casanova I thought he was for more than a year.”

And at that, Akira feigned shock and betrayal on his features, the hand holding his umbrella coming up to press awkwardly over the skin where his heart sat. Like that time, his lips were set into a faux-gasp ‘_O_’.

“But _I’m_ cool and charming!” he argued, eyes still very much wide and voice still very much holding onto that fake _hurt_, the one that fought against the smile he was trying to suppress.

“No, you’re a complete idiot, a _fool_,” Goro shook his head, leaning close to Akira and setting a kiss upon his cheek, then, “_My_ fool.”

Akira’s heart ached at that. His cheeks were flushed with warmth and his chest had constricted with the intensity of.. well, _feelings_. An entire cocktail of feelings he drowned in, a depth he wholly let himself float amongst, the feel of Goro’s presence near him.

There was a shudder of a breath that left him, lips stretching up to match the grin on Goro’s cheeks as his hand felt the warmth of the other’s seep into his skin. He squeezed Goro’s hand, a thing so tangible and real that it was hard to believe this wasn’t a dream.

Akira pleaded to whatever _gods_ were up there that this wasn’t a dream.

“Y’know I don’t have anything else to do today?”

Goro hummed curiously at the question, eyes to Akira.

“And y’know how this is the perfect weather for cuddling up to you?” A hum again, sounding closer to a _purr _than anything else.

“And how my place is just a walk from here and Ann is sleeping over at Shiho’s tonight?” Goro supplied, eyes to Akira, lips still turned up into that happy smile.

“Exactly,” he chuckled, “Well, I was _thinking_..”

Goro gasped. “You can _think_!”

And he chose to ignore that, but not without a roll of the eyes and a smirk climbing up his cheeks.

“Dinner, movies, and cuddling. I know how much you like that Chinese place we ate at once, and I’m pretty sure they deliver.”

There was a prolonged hum that emanated from Goro then, almost as if he was thinking the offer over— when really, they both knew a date at home was a straight ‘_yes_’ the moment it was proposed. Their lives were busy with work and choreographies and (in Akira’s case) trying to take down a corrupt political figure with _way_ too many webs. Yes, he was neck-deep in shit, but _damn_ if he didn’t need just a moment to step back. Breathe in. Feel the warmth of his boyfriend pressed against him.

He needed a day when he didn’t have to think about any of that, if only just for a few hours.

Once Akira had revealed the presence of his snug cat inside his bag, they were well on their way to Goro’s apartment.  
The door clicked closed behind Akira as Goro made to take his shoes off at the entrance, him only following his boyfriend into the living room when he’d settled his sneakers next to Goro’s. With the blinds drawn open, the view of a rainy day in Tokyo peered through the windows, and the moment Akira zipped open his bag, Mona made a slow and careful retreat from the confines within.

It wasn’t exactly the first time Akira brought Mona over to Goro and Ann’s apartment, and so the cat was quick to bury himself in the underside of the couch— his favourite nap spot.

On the cushions, Goro laid atop Akira, _his_ favourite nap spot.

Breaths even, eyes drawn to each other, they settled into the motions of a usual day within the house with each other. One of Akira’s hands found its fingers entangled within soft, chestnut brown locks, stroking the hair that smelled like vanilla shampoo; Goro’s arms wrapped around Akira’s neck as his head laid above the DJ’s steadily-beating heart, enjoying the calm, rhythmic sound of his heartbeat, the lingering smell of coffee stuck to Akira’s shirt; Akira would, just ever so often, pull Goro closer with the arm wrapped around his waist, revelling in the snickers that bubbled from Goro’s throat; Goro would, just every so often, leave quick pecks and kisses upon Akira’s skin, the closest that his lips could happen upon.

All the while, the sound of rain pattering against the windows made for a nice, ambient background noise amongst the silence of the apartment, their conversations shared in mumbles that almost feared breaking this dreamlike moment.

But, though time felt as if eased to a stop, the sun soon set behind stormy, grey clouds outside. They’d lost counting the hours as soon as their bodies were melded onto each other, lost the flow of time when short, numerous conversations about each other’s day and plans and music came and went. Once the sky had darkened enough that Goro had to physically force himself to detach his body from the warm, welcoming hold of his boyfriend to turn on the lights, Akira decided to call up that Chinese place and order delivery takeout.

It was as domestic as it could get, on days and dates spent like this. There was a routine in place (who made the bed, who ordered food, who had to _shush_ the other when the groans lost in their kisses got too loud) and Akira found that he wouldn’t have had it any other way. Being able to hold Goro, being able to feel his skin on the times their minds got swept up (but not _too_ much) when they would make out, being able to _kiss _him and hold his hand and sing him to sleep without having to feel _guilty_ about it..

It was Heaven on Earth.

When Akira put down his phone, his feet padded over to where Goro stood in the kitchen, drinking a cup of water— and then, just like routine, his arms would slip around the man’s waist and hug him close from behind, a chin to Goro’s shoulder, his nose pressed against Goro’s neck.

“You make me happy,” he said, voice just barely above a whisper as he breathed in the scent of Goro’s peppermint bodywash, _purred_ at the chuckle that vibrated from Goro’s throat.

“You make me happy, too.”

Akira’s breath hitched.

_Fuck_.

“Can I kiss you?”

Goro set the cup down upon the counter, arms going around Akira’s neck as soon as he’d turned around.

“Always.”

The hand settled upon his cheek was warm, its heat seeping into the flush simmering beneath his skin when his lips brushed up against Goro’s. In that moment, as the rain pattered against the windows, as Akira’s back awkwardly pressed against the circular dining table, as Goro pressed their lips closer, _closer_, there was a feeling within his chest that swelled and surrounded his heart, that made his pulse speed up tenfold and his knees to buckle under his weight. He felt weightless, yet at the same time, felt as if every sensation was hitting him all at once.

This kiss wasn’t different, and yet, it felt like an entirely new thing altogether.

When Goro made to pull away, Akira chased after him. When a kiss was finished, either one of them began anew. When Akira found himself gasping for air, there was a tongue that invaded his mouth. By the tail end of their string of kisses, they were panting into the skin of each other’s lips, foreheads pressed together, arms around each other and embracing the other _close_.

“We wasted so much time..” Akira shook his head slightly, lips still atremble. “_Fuck_, we wasted so much time.”

“Is it bad to say that I’m glad we did, though?” The DJ peered up at him, a silent question in his gaze when Goro stayed silent catching his breath. “Because we did, I managed to get the help I need.. You told me the truth..”

And then, a small smile stretched up those lips, the corners lifting just _slightly_.

“And now you don’t have to be afraid of me being hurt anymore. I’m _happy_ we wasted so much time.”

With a final peck to his lips, Goro pulled Akira back to the couch— and it was at this point that Mona had relocated to the cushions, so they settled on sitting next to each other with legs folded up and fingers interlaced as a movie came up on the TV. Goro gave the lightest of scratches on the cat’s head, all while Akira practically _purred_ into the side of his neck, eyes to the screen yet not at all.  
Because, if he were to be honest with himself, he couldn’t stop his gaze from roaming from the TV, over to his boyfriend. It was with all the love and adoration in the world swirling in his eyes as he sometimes stared at Goro for long stretches of time during the length of the film, lips quirking up into a smile, hand squeezing his just every so often.

When their food arrived and they settled back onto the couch with their boxes of Chinese takeout, conversation eased in and out in an easy flow, all up until—

“My dad wants to meet up with me again next Sunday.”

Akira looked up to him from his rice and meat, chopsticks in hand and eyes widening in attention at the joy seeping into Goro’s gaze.

“_Really_? That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it’s _surreal_. I never thought he would want to reach out.” Goro hummed, poking into his food now, “I’m.. honestly really _happy_ about the fact, but I just can’t shake off this.. this _feeling_ in my gut about him.”

It was Akira’s turn to hum now, a curious lilt bubbling from his throat.

“I don’t know, it might just be my anxiety making me overthink this but.. Why would he want to reach out to me after so long? It’s been _twenty-four_ _years_, and he just _now_ decides he wants to get to know his son?”

Seeing the worry taint Goro’s eyes, Akira had made to brush a lock of hair back behind the man’s ear, his fingers lingering on the skin of his cheek. When Akira’s lips met with the corner of Goro’s mouth, those stunning, red irises of his cast to look over him— and he looked.. not _himself_.  
There was that concern mixed with doubt that filled the depths of his eyes, the slightest downturn of his perfectly-curved lips. The skin between his brows creased as he furrowed them, and just slightly, Akira saw a tiny part of the flame of his hope die out.

_Shit, please smile again._

Akira set down the remains of his food on the coffee table before them, watched as Goro did the same before his arms slipped around Goro’s frame.

“Hey..” he began, voice but a whisper amongst the roars of the storm, “You know you’re allowed to be happy for the things you have, right?”

There was a small, raspy whine that sounded out from those pursed lips.

“Yeah..”

“And you know that, if everything seems okay and alright in place, overthinking about it is just going to stress you out?”

“_Yeah_..”

Akira pressed a kiss onto the crown of his head.

“And he already told you why, didn’t he? You told me about it.”

“That he didn’t even know he had a son..” Goro echoed, a sigh coming through his lips. “But he—”

And Goro stopped himself, then. He seemed to purse his lips even tighter, his eyes hardening beneath his bangs before he leaned in and buried his face within Akira’s sweater. For a few moments, there was nothing but the sound of rain beating against the windows, Mona digging through Akira’s leftovers, and Goro breathing in his scent.  
He was contemplating something, Akira knew. He always seemed to take a moment to breathe and collect his thoughts whenever he did, and sometimes, Akira saw him forming those words through the fogged windows of his eyes, the gears in his mind ticking and turning while he thought.

It was at times like these that Akira thought that this might’ve been how _he_ felt, when Akira kept his doings in the underbelly of Tokyo a secret.

Finally, another sigh, one breathed into the fabric of his sweater. Goro pulled back slowly, but only just _enough_ so he nicely transitioned into sitting between Akira’s legs, the back of his head resting on Akira’s shoulder.

Even from his angle, Akira saw Goro averting his eyes.

“I’ll tell you some other time.”

“Alright.” Again, he kissed the crown of the brunette’s head. “Take your time.”

There, they remained for a few minutes. Akira, at some point, had begun carding his fingers through Goro’s hair (as it seemed to soothe the dancer more than anything) and Goro, as always, closed his eyes and let himself feel, let himself relax into Akira’s hold and hear his heartbeat.

It was a peaceful few minutes— All until the lights dimmed and flickered before they gave out completely, as did everything else.

And then Goro’s eyes snapped open.

“Wait, what the fuck?”

“I think there’s been a blackout,” Akira hummed, hands joined together atop Goro’s stomach now. There was an exasperated groan that rumbled from the man laying atop him, and Akira could just _see_ the tiniest pout forming on his lips Goro did whenever he was frustrated like this.

“Not _again_.”

“Again?”

“The power goes out whenever it rains too heavily here,” he sighed, _clearly_ still very much annoyed, “And it’ll be too cold to sleep again.”

At that, Akira couldn’t stop himself from chuckling. He tightened his hold around his boyfriend with laughs he tried to stifle, all while he leaned forward and kissed the skin on the side of Goro’s neck. Goro had flinched at the sudden feel of lips on his throat, yet craned his head to the side to give Akira more space, anyway.

“I’m _here_, y’know.” And another kiss, just a bit closer to his jawline. “And I can _definitely_ think of ways for you to warm up in this storm.”

A small laugh lilted into the air, one that bordered on _suggestive_.

“Oh yeah?” Goro breathed, the sly, toothy smile just _audible_ in his tone, “And what is _that_?”

Akira unhooked his fingers from each other, slowly sliding his palms up Goro’s torso.

“Oh, it’ll be _fun_, I assure you.”

Then slid them beneath Goro’s arms, down until their fingers interlaced.

“_Fun_.”

And brought his left hand up, just to plant a kiss upon Goro’s knuckles.

“_Very_ fun.”

Before he slid out from beneath Goro’s glorious ass and stood up, one hand stuffed in his pocket to fish his phone out, while the other he held out to the dancer.

“Dance with me.”

The dumbfounded look on Goro’s face just made Akira’s Cheshire grin widen to his ears.

But still, after a pillow thrown at his face and threats of “_divorce_” laughed into the air, Goro was on his feet and Akira’s phone was playing a song he associates with red tank tops and jackets flung off strong, muscular bodies.

“_He say my body stay wetter than the ocean, and he say that Creole in my body is like a potion—_“

“_Really_?” Goro laughed, a brow raised and a grin on his cheeks. “_This_ one?”

Akira hummed in return, a sharp, sly smile on his. “I’m _feeling_ this one, is that so bad?”

And there may have been stumbles (mostly on Akira’s part) and bumping into the corners of the furniture (mostly on Goro’s part) but as they moved across the space of the living room, their hands left each other’s grasp not a single time. As they danced and swayed to the beat of the Beyoncé song, the smiles on their faces never wavered. As Goro spun Akira around, they were laughing and Akira almost slipped and fell, but Goro was there to catch him. The outside didn’t matter. The worries didn’t resurface. Everything was in place in the world, as the songs changed on shuffle and they continued to move and enjoy the happy moments. For just the time they were together, they chose to spend it trapped in their little bubble of joy and love.

_Love_.

Akira looked to Goro, right as the song shifted once more, this time to a slower [ballad](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sElE_BfQ67s).

_Love_.

His eyes had softened, right as Goro moved to place one of Akira’s hands on his waist, Goro’s free one to snake around Akira’s back.

“Would you give me this dance?” Goro had asked, something soft in his eyes and his voice just shy of _shy_.

_Love_.

Akira Kurusu wasn’t sure when he fell in love with Goro Akechi, but as he nodded and tightened his hold on the man, it hit him like a bullet straight to his heart.

He loved Goro Akechi.

_“You leapt from crumbling bridges watching cityscapes turn to dust—”_

Their steps had come to a gradual stop, and slowly, as they held onto each other, they swayed like two teenagers on their first slow dance.

Well, Akira supposed it wasn’t too far off from the truth.

“_Filming helicopters crashing in the ocean from way above—”_

There was a contented sigh that left his lips as he looked up at the brunette, a simple smile stretching up his cheeks when Goro spun them around. From where he stood, the sound of rain pattering against the windows rang on his left.

And yet, Goro Akechi’s presence surrounded him more than the music did.

_“Got the music in you baby, tell me why—”_

A kiss to his lips.

_“Got the music in you baby, tell me why—”_

Their foreheads pressed together.

_“You’ve been locked in here forever and you just can’t say goodbye.”_

Akira closed his eyes, let himself be engulfed in the sea of Goro’s scent and stillness.

“Where have you been?”

It was a rhetorical question, one voiced into the air for no particular reason. His mind had been mostly swept up in the slow, repeating drums, the calm, serene strumming of the guitar and bass; The way his hand held firmly onto Goro’s, the arm that held him close to the man.

“Looking for the man in my dreams.”

Goro radiated a warmth Akira never knew he missed in his life. When the brunette rested his head upon the junction between Akira’s neck and shoulder, he felt Goro’s voice mumble into his skin.

“Looking for _you_.”

“You have me,” Akira whispered back, “And I have _you_.”

_“Your lips, my lips— Apocalypse.”_

“You were the man in _my_ dreams. All this time.”

He felt those lips curve into a smile against his skin.

“Was it fate?”

“God’s been playing us,” he chuckled quietly, “But I’ll get to you no matter what.”

Those eyes met his again, wide and shining like red rubies. Akira felt he’d never stop feeling his heart skip a beat whenever Goro looked at him.  
As the music sang into the air around them, Goro leaned forward to press his lips upon Akira’s, and Akira couldn’t help but let himself drown in it.

Their hold on each other tightened with each kiss planted upon each other’s lips, gripping onto one another like they’d lose each other again— But they _wouldn’t_. They’d fight not to feel the excruciating gap in their souls again, the ripped seams where the other would fit into. They latched onto one another like puzzle pieces that’d been missing for a lifetime, like coffee and milk mixing.

It was simply impossible to tear them apart again.

And it was soon that hands had begun to wander, soon that their kisses turned a little more heated, a little more _passionate_. Akira’s tongue found its way past the seam of Goro’s lips, dancing a tango with the warm, wet muscle in Goro’s mouth; Goro’s hand slipped beneath the hem of Akira’s sweater, his fingers leaving warm trails across the skin it travelled on the expanse of his back. When Goro broke away to gather his breaths, Akira’s lips latched onto his jawline, leaving a line of kisses and pecks, sucks and nibbles, down to his neck. The appreciative hums and groans that reverberated from Goro’s throat pushed Akira to do more, suck harder, bite a bit more aggressively— all while a pool of heat coiled _deep_ beneath the surface of his skin, growing into a ball of fire that blazed within his core.

When Goro craned his neck to give Akira more space, there was a breathless little _“can I?”_ breathed into the skin of his throat. His response was a buck of the hips and a frantic nod, followed by a groan Akira knew he tried to suppress.

_Well, that won’t do at **all**_.

He bared his teeth and bit down on Goro’s skin.  
The more Akira sucked and nibbled on a spot on the lower end of Goro’s neck, the louder the brunette’s moans grew. The harder he nipped, the more Goro pressed into him. When Akira felt his handiwork was sufficient, he withdrew just a bit to admire the work he’d done on Goro’s skin.

And there, red and darkening, was a love bite.

He wanted to leave _more_.

But he stood and stared far too long for Goro’s taste, it seemed— because the next thing he knew, he was pressed against the entrance of the balcony. Goro was quick to latch his lips onto Akira’s neck now, leaving quick, hasty kisses and groans that each added to the flame burning beneath his skin.  
He’d learned much too quickly that Akira’s neck was his sweet spot, and when their time alone together plunged into the heat of desire like this, the dancer went straight for the throat— literally.

Akira was panting, hips jutted out as Goro kneed the strained, growing bulge tented in his jeans. He was slow, _careful_, taking his time to please Akira as Akira did naught but moan into the air, urging Goro to continue. His fingers were tangled in the mop of brown hair settled beneath his chin, going farther and farther down the more Goro descended upon his chest. It was soon that his sweater had been pulled over his head and thrown to the side, and Goro’s tongue laved across his collarbones, trailing the wet, drooling tip down to his nipples.

There, Goro nipped.

A strained cry erupted from Akira’s throat, his head falling back against the glass. Goro’s tongue only continued to encircle the nub hardening beneath his touch, skilled fingers rubbing and pinching and teasing the other one. When Goro began to suck on his nipple, Akira took the initiative to grind their clothed bulges together.

“I’m not—” he panted, a sly grin on his cheeks, “Not letting you do all the work.”

He could just about feel them growing bigger under the confines of their clothing as Goro groaned and travelled further down his chest. He left a trail of kisses as he wandered, eventually settling down to a squat in front of Akira’s zipper. There, his lips engulfed the tent in his pants.

In the two months of them dating, Goro was quick to learn of the things that made Akira squirm. He knew all the right buttons to press, was perceptive to each twitch and groan that left his boyfriend whenever he did a very particular thing to his skin, when his hands roamed to places few had the pleasure to explore. Goro learned that Akira would never deny a blowjob from those pretty, pink lips of his, _especially_ not after teasing him to the edge and _then_ some.

And so, he stayed like that for a bit. He mouthed at Akira’s bulge, let his tongue drag over and across with the most _sinful_ look in his eyes staring up at Akira all the while. He’d tease at pulling the zipper down, or unbuttoning his pants, let his fingers glide up and down the strong, tense thighs on either side of his head— still, he wouldn’t do much other than mouth and suckle through the fabric.

That drove Akira _mad_, but he was a masochist all in the same breath.

He kept one of his hands tangled in brunette hair, tugging and pulling the way Goro liked. Every so often, he’d buck his hips into that watery, waiting mouth, delighted in the pleased groans that sounded from beneath him muffled against the fabric of his jeans. When push turned to shove, Akira pulled Goro back up and smashed their lips together, mouths open, tongues doing a carnal dance of desire against one another. The hand previously holding onto Goro’s head went to cup at the tent in the man’s pants, his fingers doing expertly work on kneading and teasing. 

And by _gods_, if the moans Goro muffled in their desperate kisses didn’t make his cock twitch.

For a moment, Akira pulled back, obsidian irises meeting with a blazing fire in red ones. He asked the question neither of them voiced into the air, the question they both so _desperately_ wanted the answer to already.

And it wasn’t too long before Akira was pulled through the hallways and into Goro’s bedroom, the door slamming behind Goro’s back when Akira trapped him against it.  
There, he stripped Goro of _his_ sweater-vest combo, his mouth knowing each plane of the dancer’s chest, where to kiss and suck and bite, left marks and bruises that wouldn’t fade for _days_. When he’d lowered himself enough to get to the button of Goro’s pants, he made to waste no time undressing him of it and freeing the hard cock from within.

He looked up at Goro, asking for permission— and in that moment, Goro Akechi was the most beautiful thing on the planet.  
His lips were parted, pants and moans escaping from his throat as he watched Akira. His cheeks were blessed with a bright, red blush, ears and neck tinted pink with whatever blood hadn’t already rushed to his face and his oh so delightful dick. His hair was a matted mess from all the tugs Akira had made, and his eyes..

They were a fire Akira wanted to burn himself in.

He opened his mouth and leaned in.  
Goro’s length was something Akira’s throat was _well_-acquainted with, and so taking the entirety of his shaft into his mouth was something as second nature to him as making music— and oh _gods _was he _making music_ now.

When he pulled his head back, the sloppy, wet noise of his lips enclosed around Goro’s girth was mixed with the long, breathless whine that poured from the brunette’s lips. When that delicious cock slid down his throat again, he choked on his own saliva and the cockhead, withdrew himself quickly as a sticky line of spit connected the seam of his lips to the dripping tip of Goro’s cock.  
He licked around the flushed head, brought himself down to drag his tongue up from the underside of the other’s length, all while one of his hands fondled and massaged Goro’s tightened balls, the other holding Goro in place with a grip on his hip.

“Like that, angel?”

All he got in response was a needy whine, a single bob of his chin before Akira once more descended upon the erection standing straight and waiting for him.

It didn’t take too long before Akira was bobbing his head, the dick he blew sliding in and out of his adjusted throat easily, all whilst an eagerness swam in his eyes and actions. He’d sometimes stop, lips enclosed around the head, and simply _suck_ the moans from Goro’s throat; and at times, he’d look up at Goro, train his gaze at the man while he slid inch by inch into his mouth _slowly_ until his nose hit Goro’s hip.

All the while, Goro was moaning Akira’s name, uninhibitedly singing his praises and his pleasure at each pump Akira made with his fingers, at each time he took Goro in his mouth, at each time the cavern past his lips _squelched_ with sinful intent when Goro couldn’t _take it_ anymore and facefucked Akira near his _peak_.

But that was when Akira decided to leave one last kiss at the tip of his dick, a loving little peck that imparted the creamy, sticky, almost-translucent proof of the beginning of Goro’s desire on his lips.

When he arose, Goro was on him like a man deprived of sustenance.

Their lips mashed in a jumble of kisses, licks, sucks, and tugs, all while Goro guided Akira to his bed with hands roaming his body, groans voiced into the heated air between them. When Goro let himself fall onto the bed, he pulled Akira down with him, the _second _their lips parted from each other feeling like an _aeon_ in their desperation.

Akira felt Goro kick off his pants from where he laid atop the man, and it was then that they’d pulled apart for _just_ the moment, looking at one another with pleasure and desire casting a haze over their eyes.

“Do you want this?” Akira asked.

“I want _you_,” Goro panted in reply, voice breathless, “I want to feel _you_.”

The red of the pendant glinted amongst the lights that cast from the window above Goro’s bed as it hung off Akira’s neck. Goro’s red eyes averted to the side.

“But I just.. I’m still not _sure_.”

“Then feel _me_.” Akira sat up, knees on either side of Goro’s hips as he guided the brunette’s hands over to his ass. “Feel me. I _need_ to feel you.”

Akira had thought over this since the night they’d ended up in his apartment after the first date. He’d asked Goro about it not too long ago. Goro knew _exactly_ what he meant. Now, he only looked down upon Goro with a plead in his eyes, desperation and desire melting into one reflected in his dark irises.

And there was a moment in which Goro’s breath hitched in his throat, a moment in which he stared up at Akira as if he were asking, “_are you sure?_”

But Akira had made up his mind long ago.

He _needed_ to feel Goro, whatever way that may have been.

As if in reply, he grinded his hips down upon the erection poking the back of his pants, slowly, _gently_, as if coaxing a scared kitten out of its hiding spot.

He felt Goro’s fingers dig into the fabric at his bottom.

They kissed again, yet this time the boiling heat had weakened to a simmer as their lips moved against one another’s. Instead of a dance of desperation and carnal lust, they moved in a slow, almost _gentle_ kiss, pecks full of admiration, adoration. It was loving, and somehow, it was much more difficult _and_ easier to deal with than their earlier, more _primal_ movements. With each kiss placed upon his skin, Akira felt his heart clench, felt it thump against his chest in triple time with the heat of Goro’s skin, the feel of his hands on Akira’s.

“You do so much for me..” Goro mumbled at some point, lips on Akira’s neck, “_Too_ much. Let me do the same for you.”

It was a bit awkward as they shimmied from the end of the bed, to the pillows, and it was there that Goro pointed to the nightstand beside his bed.

“Lube and condoms.”

“Goro, I’m not going to _make _you—”

“Akira.” Goro stared straight into his eyes then, and it was _heartbreaking_ to see the small bud of fear in his gaze, the nervous bite of his lip and the furrow of his brows. “_Do it_.”

His arms encircled Akira, pulled him close to his bared chest.

“Give me better memories.”

Squeezed just a bit tighter, as if afraid Akira would let him go.

“Take me. Make me _yours_.” Goro looked at him with that same plead in his eyes, that same _fear_. “Let me be selfish one last time and give me _you_ the way _you_ want me.”

At that, Akira couldn’t stop a chuckle from bubbling within the depths of his abused throat. He placed a kiss upon the man’s nose, an endearing look in his eyes as he freed himself from Goro’s hold to reach for the bedside drawer.

“If _that’s _selfish, consider me selfish, too.”

Plucked out a condom and the bottle of lube.

“Consider me the most selfish person ever.”

Scooted down with the lube, up until his face pressed against Goro’s inner thigh, where he left a kiss.

“And maybe even _greedy_ right now..”

Before he spread the man’s legs open, Goro to lift his hips almost _instinctively_.

“Because I’m going to take everything you have to give and _more_. I want you to be _mine_.”

**_Only_**_ mine_.

“If you’ll accept me as _yours_.”

Plunged his face right in-between that fat ass.

Akira felt Goro start to tremble and shake when his tongue prodded against the rim of his hole, licking and spitting around the puckered entrance. His hands held Goro’s legs steady, because as much as he would _love_ to be crushed by the strong thighs surrounding his head, it wouldn’t do if he still had to please the other.  
But ah, Goro was already wound up so much from their earlier play, and so he only dragged his flattened tongue up from his hole, all the way to the tip of his dick in one, long, _slow_ lick—relished in the rawness of Goro’s voice as he cried out Akira’s name, the choked sob and the absolutely _guttural_ moan that spilled from his pretty lips once Akira’d squirted lube onto his fingers and pressed a digit inside.

Now, he might’ve been out the game basically ever since he _met_ Goro, but that didn’t mean he forgot exactly _how_ to please a man. He watched as Goro writhed above the sheets, eyes squeezed shut and bottom lip caught between his teeth when Akira began sliding his finger in and out, curled at the right places, poked and pressed and prodded in search for Goro’s sweet spot. There was a smirk plastered across his cheeks when a particular scratch made Goro’s back arch and his voice cry out in _want_.

“_Fuck_, Akira—!”

Akira, features decorated in a dark, devilish, _sadistic_ look, took his time loosening up Goro’s inner walls. He took his _sweet_ time reaching for that spot again (the one that made Goro see the stars and Heavens above), hummed in patient delight and pleasantness when Goro tried to buck his hips (during which, he’d hold the man down by his hip once more, his head shaking and his tongue clicking as if he was scolding a kitten), was generous with his praises when Goro held himself still, with hands balled into the pillow beneath his head, half-lidded and clouded eyes watching nothing else but _Akira_.

_Akira_, who lulled him to his arms, who held his hand and pulled him along, who brought him so very _close_ to the edge, only to withdraw enough for Goro’s entire being to shake and stutter in his seemingly never-ending chase for _release_.

Because, well, Goro deserved the best— And _the best_ is what Akira would give him.

“Say my name, darling,” Akira hummed, three fingers deep in Goro now, “_Who’s _making you feel good right now?”

Amongst the _squelch_ of Akira’s digits pumping in and out of the man, Goro rasped.

“_You_—” Akira curled his fingers, thrusting deep to his knuckle into that _one_ glorious spot. “_Akira_! Akira! _Ngh,_ Akira—!”

With each time he yelled Akira’s name, Akira felt his dick twitch in its confines. _Fuck_, he had to get his pants off _soon_.

With one last pump deep within the brunette, Akira leaned forward, hovering just _above_ Goro as their lips brushed against one another once more in a chaste, rewarding kiss.

“So beautiful, Goro..” Akira mumbled, lips once more against the man’s neck. He made to leave a few bites and marks as he unbuttoned his jeans between Goro’s legs, quick to free himself from the article before he kicked it off the bed. When his still-lubed fingers gave a singular stroke to his cock, Akira didn’t even _try_ to stop himself from moaning a sultry, _sinful_ moan into the seventh hickey he left on Goro’s neck.

“_So_ good.. You make me feel so _good_, Goro—”

It took a few fumbles (distracted as they were pressing lips and dancing with their tongues) until Akira happened upon the condom left on the sheets once more, forcing himself to break their stream of kisses and bites to unwrap it and slide the latex onto his cock.

He made sure Goro saw him do that, if only to let the man bask at his girth through the haze of pleasure and desire in his eyes.

After Akira spread lube onto his cock, he pressed the head to Goro’s entrance. There was a single kiss left on the skin of Goro’s thigh, one last look exchanged between them.

They looked at each other with trust, with _admiration_— They looked at each other like _lovers_ did.

And then, Akira buried the aching core of his desire between Goro’s thighs.

He did it slowly, _carefully_, basked in the sounds they’d voiced into the air, the feel of Goro’s hands on his back, Goro’s walls tightening around himself.

The _feel_ of Goro around him, of their bodies and heats melting into _one_.

Once he was fully settled within the other, Akira braced his hands on either side of Goro’s head, taking the moment to catch his breath, feel the quadruple-time thump of his heart— Admire the pained-pleasured expression painted onto Goro’s features.

“You okay?” Akira panted, brows furrowed in concentration as he willed himself not to move yet.

“Yeah, just—” Goro squirmed beneath him, legs coming to wrap around Akira’s waist— to which, he couldn’t supress a groan from the movement around his dick. “Let me adjust.”

Akira decided to plant kisses around Goro’s face as the man relaxed around him— but the momentary quiet didn’t last for _too_ long, not when he suddenly heard Goro groan under him, cheeks flushed a bright cherry red even in the darkness.

“Why does your dick have to be so _big_?”

Soon, Akira burst into a fit of chuckles.

“Did you seriously just ask me that in the middle of _sex_?”

“I mean if it’s taking me a _damn_ long time to get used to it then I’d be _inclined_ to know!”

Goro was laughing about it, too, though.

Akira brushed a few, stray locks of hair away from his face, grin wide on his cheeks as he pressed a loving kiss to Goro’s lips.

“This is why I love you.”

And all too suddenly, Goro had gone silent.  
He stared up at Akira with widened eyes coloured with disbelief. His lips had parted, just _slightly_, with the questions he mouthed yet didn’t dare ask, things he didn’t want to _say_.

But if Goro Akechi was anything, he was full of the surprises that Akira so loved.

“Took you long enough,” he muttered, hips doing a slow buck against Akira’s cock. There was a quiet moan that hummed from his pursed lips before he said, “I love you, too, you fool.”

It was push and pull, like a wave of sensations and desire. Goro kept bucking his hips faster, _faster_, up until Akira was snapped out of his reverie and he’d grabbed onto the man’s shoulders, pulling his hips back before he’d thrust himself in with one, hard _smack _as skin met skin.

“I love you so much—”

Moved faster.

“_Akira_, I lov—”

Held him tighter.

“_Goro_, you feel so _good_—”

Kissed him, with a kiss that beheld all of his love.

Breaths and moans mixed into the air smelling of the stench of _sex_, Akira rocking his hips faster and harder the closer he felt his climax creep onto his skin, the harder he felt Goro dig and scratch onto the expanse of his back with his nails. Goro’s strong legs clung to Akira’s waist as he bucked in time with the man, each time hitting just a little bit _deeper_, each time feeling just a bit more _pleasure_ when Akira focused on his prostate. The pleasured noises that left his lips sang louder and louder as Akira breathed out sweet words laced with _sin_ for him, praised Goro and repeated how _beautiful_ he was, how _amazing_ he was.

The squelching of skin slapping on skin had fuelled Akira to chase his orgasm, the erotic noises and moans that echoed from Goro having him _desperate_ to feel him more, to _touch_ him more: He let the hand not holding himself up roam over Goro’s chest, tangle itself within soft, brown locks, caress the cheek of his beloved and slip past his lips to open his mouth more, to let Akira hear him more.  
Goro drooled onto Akira’s hand, too focused on the rawness of their pleasure to really give a whole damn if he was making a mess or not, if his voice had penetrated through the walls of the apartment or not. What mattered to him was making Akira _feel good_, making him cum with how much he’d tightened around the man’s cock, letting Akira take his entire _being_ and _then_ some. He had long given his heart to Akira, and could only silently curse himself for not giving him his _body_ sooner.

Because it felt too _good_, it felt too _much_ yet at the same time just _enough_. The taste of his skin, the heat of his body.. And the way Akira sang his praises for Goro had him close to sobbing, for all he could feel was the love that he’d put into each lyric, each word, each harsh slap of Akira’s hips against his own.

Goro was no singer, but he _was_ a dancer. He let his lips dance across the smooth, milky column of Akira’s neck, bit and sucked and left his own marks to claim the man for his own, let his tongue do a sloppy slow dance amongst the symphonies of their voices when Akira slipped the warm, dripping muscle of his own mouth past Goro’s lips. He let his body move in beat with Akira’s, touched where he could touch, bite where he could bite, kiss and suck and cry out in pleasure when and where he could.

Soon, Goro buried a hand into the inky, black curls of Akira’s hair, forced the man to look at him (_watch _him) as he felt his body stutter into its climax.

“_Cumming_—” he stuttered, “Akira, I’m _cumm—”_

Akira had encircled his long, slender fingers around Goro’s neglected cock, pumped him in time with his thrusts.

And then, Goro was crying out, louder than he’d ever been. His lips moved and spilled words he didn’t even _comprehended_ as he reached his peak, felt his cock spurt ropes of hot, thick seed and land onto his own chest. He fucked himself on Akira harder, _faster_, more desperate to chase the high for just a _little_ longer, just a _little_ more intense than before.

When his vision had cleared just _enough_, he was beheld to a sight most beautiful.

Akira’s eyes were focused on none other than _him_ as he saw the light shine into those obsidian gems, his hair a tousled mess and sweat making his body shimmer in the light that bled through the windows. Goro’s body moved and shifted along the sheets with how _hard_ Akira rocked his hips into him, yet was held right into place where he _belonged_ with the death grip Akira had on his shoulder. Overstimulation began creeping into his core, yet at the same time, there was still that _pleasure_ that he derived from _pain_, and so he squeezed his muscles around Akira, moved to place his head above the junction between the man’s neck and shoulder and _bit_ _down_ into his skin.

Goro became the (wholly-pleasured) receiving end of his hardest thrusts, all until Akira had slowed to a shaking stop above him, forehead pressed against Goro’s, muscles tight beneath his neck, eyes squeezed shut and lips just _ghosting_ over Goro’s own as he mumbled and panted in his release.

“_Love y’too_..” _Oh_ Gods, Akira’s cum was hot in the condom in his ass. “Love y’too.. _so_ fucking much, Goro..”

And then, a press of lips against his.

Akira kissed him gently, _passionately_, and Goro could just about feel all the love this man trembling above him felt for him with just the deepest of kisses, the most _loving_ of kisses.

Goro was a slack mess of sweat and cum when Akira pulled his upper half back to sit up, the brunette himself laying flat and tired above his bed when Akira withdrew himself from him. There was a whine on his tongue, a little complaint about the feeling of Akira’s softened cock finally pulling out from his ass, but he hadn’t much energy to fight left. Instead, he laid above his bed, closed his eyes, gathered his breath more when he felt the mattress shift as Akira stood to throw away the soiled condom and get a wet rag from the bathroom.

As Akira cleaned him up the best he could, Goro had a dopey, happy smile on his face.

“I love you.”

Then, a kiss on his forehead.

“I love you, too.”

When he felt the mattress dip beside him, Goro knew that Akira had settled himself into his spot of the bed. He felt those strong, lithe arms wrap around his waist, pull him close— and Goro was treated to the calming sound of Akira’s heartbeat next to his ear, his smooth baritone humming a faint melody Goro had heard somewhere before.

For a moment, his eyes had peered open to look up at Akira, right before his stare caught on the glinting red of the pendant he wore. Lazily, he’d bring his fingers up to fumble with the jewellery, eyes half-lidded and breaths steadying.

“What’s this?” he mumbled, curiosity and tiredness laced in his tone. Akira hummed a small laugh above him, his chest reverberating with the act much like a cat when it _purred_.

“A good luck charm. It helps me sleep better.”

“Hm? Why?”

Goro looked up just in time to see Akira smiling down at him, a soft look in his eyes.

“It reminds me of you.”

Akira had sat up a bit then, hands coming around to the nape of his neck as his deft fingers worked at the clasp. Goro watched as the silver of its chain came to wrap around his own neck, once Akira had asked him to lift it a bit for him to put the necklace on Goro.

“I want you to have it,” he said, settling back into their previous positions, “I feel like.. I’ve just been holding onto it. That it wasn’t actually _mine_ to keep.”

Akira’s fingers began stroking through his hair, something that always put Goro at ease as he looked down upon the red mask.

“It’s pretty,” Goro hummed, smile rising from the corners of his lips. “Thank you.”

Faintly, he could hear Akira’s phone in the living room playing that ballad again.

When the wave of tiredness had finally overcome them both, Goro held the pendant loosely in his grasp, eyes shut and brows furrowed, just ever so slightly, as he slept within the cradle of Akira’s arms around him and the sound of rain pattering against the windows.

_“You’ve been locked in here forever and you just can’t say goodbye.”_

That night, he dreamed of a towering figure, a gold-winged, birdlike helmet around its head and a golden bow and arrow in its hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> h e c k oh my god  
it really be out here  
it really be a full year since i began writing m&m 
> 
> i'm so ??? what are words. how do i describe this.  
i never really expected myself to be at this for like,, more than four months (c ou g h the whole account orphaning thing c ou g h) but here we are !! 26 tracks in, same day, different year, changed eyrist.  
even through all the bs that happened in the span of since i began writing this to n o w, i really appreciate everyone that's put their time into reading this dumb from-a-whim fic. whether you left kudos or comments or even just silently read along while i write this, i am so insanely thankful for everyone. i want to finish mixing and matching due to my own stubbornness (because boo boo the fool has always dropped projects halfway through rip) but knowing that people are genuinely enjoying this little story i've put up is  
instant serotonin my dudes 
> 
> jokes aside, thank you all so much. i can't ever thank everyone and show my appreciation enough for all the support and love and yes, even the occasional hate towards the characters haha
> 
> with the rest of the year to go, i still have so much more planned out for the melodies of the soul. if you plan on sticking around, buckle up sugar bc this is going to be one h e l l of a ride. 
> 
> i love y'all a lot. thank you so much. 💕💕💕✨✨
> 
> listen list !!  
stelouse - shivers n gold  
alina baraz - to me  
alina baraz - endlessly  
alina baraz - trust  
cigarettes after sex - apocalypse


	29. Track 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for needles and that gun violence thing.  
Needles starts at "The boy lifted his right arm onto the table, palm up, relaxed, almost as if he’d been used to it— As if he’d expected this to happen." and ends just before "His voice echoed off the walls"  
Gun stuff starts "It happened much too fast, yet all the details still remained singed into Akira’s memories" and ends "injuring five others" 
> 
> Enjoy! :^)

When Akira opened his eyes, he saw nothing but a bright, pristine white.

The revelation that dawn had peeked from the horizon beyond the bedroom windows crept up onto him slowly, a slow and subtle realisation that snuck into his mind. For a moment, in his still-drowsy state, he wondered where he was, how he was jostled awake— why he was _even_ awake at such an hour. Didn’t he get to bed just before dawn, as usual? Didn’t he lazily, absentmindedly, crawl back up the stairs to his apartment? Where the Hell was he?

As his vision cleared, he gathered what he could from his surroundings.  
He was laying on a bed softer than his own. The fuzzy blanket layered on top of his body was warm. There were birds chirping outside. The air was a bit chilly. What felt like hair tickled his shoulder. There was a weight on his left arm. He was naked.

As the sun cast its hues of oranges and pinks upon him from the window overhead, so did the memories of the night flood into his brain. Warily, slowly (almost as if he was afraid of breaking this dreamlike moment,) his gaze fell to his left.

Goro Akechi looked beautiful, even with hair too tousled and lips parted only slightly. He could see the tiniest crease between the man’s knitted brows, and yet, his face was painted in a mostly-calm and mostly-peaceful demeanour in his sleep. His arms loosely wrapped around Akira’s own limb, and yet, when Akira shifted just the slightest bit to lay onto his side to better face the man, Goro had tightened his hold onto the DJ in an almost _possessive _way.

With a smile so slowly, just slightly-hesitantly, creeping up his cheeks, he stared as the brunette’s skin radiated with a heavenlike glow as the rays of dawn shined upon his skin. His hair reflected the light, yet seemed to take in its colour and brightness as his chestnut brown hair glowed a more honey shade under the sunlight.

Yes, he remembers now: where he was, why he was awake at the ass crack of dawn, why there was a weight clinging onto his arm.

Last night, they had made love.

It had seemed too much of a fantasy for his brain to really, fully comprehend. With what’d happened between them and with the vague, blurry dreams of brown hair and deep, red eyes that he’d been having these past seven years, Akira wouldn’t have been surprised if, in that moment, his eyes once more peered open to stare blankly at the grey ceiling of his bedroom with droplets of tears building in the corner of his vision. Truly, he had to hold his breath for a few seconds as he watched Goro sleep more and more, had to exhale slowly only to repeat the exercise and blink a few more times to confirm that this was _the waking reality_.

And when he awoke from no bittersweet dream, did the light in his eyes fully shine.

He moved slowly as his hand came to just hover above those soft locks of the other’s, almost hesitating before he’d finally descended and began to stroke Goro’s hair. He didn’t want to wake Goro, really (not after their night together) and so continued to let the carefulness guide his movements as he breathed along with his lover, stroked his hair and caressed his cheek with his thumb. As the minutes turned to an hour, and Goro showed no sign of resurfacing from his world of dreams, Akira decided to lean down and place a kiss upon the man’s forehead, replacing the teddy bear his arm had become with the pillow underneath his head as he slipped out of bed.

His steps were quiet and careful as he moved around the bed, gathering his clothes to slip them on and then picking Goro’s clothes from where they were tossed onto the floor in their haste to fold them up, before setting them upon the nightstand. Once Akira remembered his sweater had been left in the living room, he opened and closed the door as quietly as he could, mentally thanking Morgana for drilling the art of stealth into him so much that it’d become second nature.

In the living room, he found Mona asleep upon his black sweater, having bunched up the fabric into a comfy little nest for himself throughout the night.

“Sorry for leaving you here, buddy,” Akira hummed, scratching the top of the cat’s head as he squatted down to retrieve his sweater, “Let’s get you to a more comfortable place to sleep, hm?”

The cat had purred sleepily at the little pats before Akira made to slip back into the warm fabric of his makeshift bed of the night, only mewling contentedly as his dad picked him up and bunched his soft body up in his arms. All the way to the bedroom, he purred against Akira’s chest, his entire form rumbling happily, contentedly, at the contact with Akira once more.  
He purred even more as he was set down upon the pillow next to Goro’s head, his _other_ dad. Akira would’ve taken a photo of the absolutely _adorable_ moment as father and son slept next to each other, but he was a fool for leaving his phone playing music all night until it died. Ah, it was fine. He could just leave Goro a note.

Padding over to the man’s desk, he had first spotted the small, cream-coloured journal sitting next to Goro’s laptop, paid no mind to it as Goro had only shown him the contents within _once_, and quickly figured out it was much too personal and private for him to snoop into— He may have been a _thief_, but he was no heartless _monster_.

After some searching, Akira found a small, post-it notepad in one of the man’s drawers (a cute little thing with sweets printed onto the pastel pink paper as decoration, no doubt a gift from Ann) before he’d grabbed the pen sitting above the journal and scribbled onto the note.

He stuck the note on the pillow Goro clutched before he took his leave.

_Went out to get us coffee. I’ll be back in a few. Love you. <3  
P.S. Would you prefer blueberry pancakes as always, angel? _

The air outside was cold (a chill that Akira sometimes felt as night creeped to day and he hadn’t yet fallen asleep) and the streets were quiet, littered with wet spots and puddles from the previous night’s storm. He passed by only a few people as he walked the paths, hands in his pockets and eyes to the sky. From what he’d glimpsed of early morning light through the windows, it hadn’t compared to the beauty of soft shades of pink and purple blending into the gentle blue of the heavens above.

Mornings were nice. That was what he thought as he strolled the way to Leblanc.

It wasn’t unnatural to see Sojiro up and at it at _this_ hour in the morning. Akira knew he much preferred Leblanc’s kitchen to the one in their house, and it was often that he, Futaba, and Akira shared breakfast and meals at the homely café— and yet, what he hadn’t expected to see was Futaba face-down on the counter as she sat atop one of the bar seats, seeming exhausted and, honestly, _dead_.

This wasn’t the first time he’d seen her like this (the woman often going on her information and game frenzies to _this _point more times than he could count) but there was a sag in her shoulders— a weight that seemed to press down upon her back. It was only after he’d greeted his dad a good morning with a smile did he put a hand on her shoulder to try and see if she was awake or not.

And when Futaba’s head shot up at the contact, Akira felt himself flinch at the look in her eyes.

She looked tired— Actually no, fuck that, she looked absolutely _exhausted_. The heavy bags under her eyes spoke for themselves (she hadn’t slept at _all_) and the way her lips seemed to move into an automatic frown at the sight of him made something inside Akira start to squirm in concern and _fear_.

“I need to talk to you.”

It was all she needed to say before they excused themselves from Sojiro cooking up curry, scurrying up to the attic in just a minute tops.

Up in his old bedroom, Akira was faced with one thing: Nakura’s gift flashdrive.

“I thought I asked you to get some rest?” was the first thing Akira blurted out, staring his sister in the eyes.

“I _did_, okay?” she groaned, eyes closing in frustration for a second as she pinched the bridge of her nose, “After Yusuke left, I _had_ to find out everything that was in those folders and _Akira—_”

The way she punctuated his name, put such a heavy emphasis on it, made Akira’s stare travel back to the flashdrive being offered to him.

“You _need_ to see this. You _have_ to know. _He_ has to know.”

There was a frown that pulled the corners of his lips down, brows furrowing in confusion. That _feeling_ once more writhed within his core, travelled up to put an attack on his already too-fast-beating heart.

“Who?”

Futaba opted to stay quiet, her features twisting into something grim.

“Futaba, _who_?”

She looked down upon the floorboards, eyeing the depression where Akira’s body once slammed onto, on his first meeting with Morgana.

“I’m not..” she began, voice trembling, the breath that left her even shakier, “I.. We have to go to that base in Nagano. We have to find out _everything_ that happened there. Afterwards, we can put everything together and stop _Shido_. It has to happen before he can do anything else, it’s just..”

That was when Futaba had begun _truly_ trembling. He watched as her shoulders began to shake, her frame looking unstable, her knees buckling. Before the woman could fall, Akira crossed the distance between them and put his arms around her in an _embrace_ and a _hold_ in case she collapsed on herself.

“Shido _knows_ we’re moving. Nakura had proof _he_ was the one that sent those hitmen on you when you got shot. He _knows_, and he tried to take you and Morgana out. My mother is out there, somewhere— she’s _alive_, and I think Shido’s only trying to stop us so we couldn’t get to her.”

Futaba was crying, each word like a stab cutting through his chest as she forced herself to relay this to Akira. She shook, she sobbed, and ultimately, she choked on her words as she cried into his sweater.

“My mom has all the answers. We have to find her now, more than _ever_.”

“I know..” Akira shushed, his voice coming to a gentle tone as he rubbed her back and held her tight, held her to make her feel _secured_, “We’ll get to the bottom of this. You have me. You have Morgana. We can make this happen, okay? We’ll end this soon.”

_Soon_, his mind echoed. That word reminded him of the ticking timer in the back of his head.

“We’ll end this soon. You have to trust me and Morgana. We’ll do everything to get to her and finish this.”

It took an hour of repeating those words to Futaba before she’d collapsed from the exhaustion: mental, physical, and _emotional_. He only hoped that this would give the woman the rest she denied herself, stared at her unconscious form in his arms with his lips turned into a deep frown, his brows tense and troubled as they slanted.

After Akira had come down the stairs and given Sojiro the usual excuse as to why she’d collapsed into a deep, uneasy slumber once more, their dad had accompanied them back to the house as Akira brought her to her room. After she’d been tucked in, he found his eyes roaming the bedroom, the one that hadn’t changed one bit since he’d first seen it— a few garbage bags in the corner she neglected to throw out, the screens and LEDs of her computer(s) shining in the dark from her desk, and the glow-in-the-dark stars dotting the darkened room with their neon green glow.

There was a sigh on his lips, a heavy weight in his chest and an even heavier weight in his pocket, once he’d made a blurry trek back to Goro and Ann’s apartment.

He set their coffees upon the kitchen counter, heard only the splash of water from the bathroom as he passed by.

“Hey, Goro?”

“_Yeah?_” the man’s smooth, soothing voice had called from within, curious and tinted with joy after Akira knocked twice on the door.

“Can I borrow your laptop? I need to look into something.”

“_Ah—_” there was an odd pause there for a moment, only the sound of the shower filling the silence before, “_Yeah, sure! Don’t.. Don’t do anything **weird**, okay?_”

Akira didn’t know how he should’ve reacted to that, and so settled on a short, almost forced chuckle.

“Okay, _sure_. Thanks, angel!”

He was on his way to Goro’s bedroom soon after.

He hadn’t paid much mind to his surroundings as he made a bee-line for the chair before the laptop, pushing the lid open and digging the sleek, black flashdrive from his pocket. Once he’d booted up the device and plugged the drive in, Mona had apparently come to rub at his legs, meows sounding _concerned_ for his dad.

Akira only offered the cat a small, sad smile, giving his head a scratch as he opened what his mind nagged him to do since Futaba had spoken to him.  
Phase Five had but one video titled “_Subject #0012_”, well over five hours long. Its plain, white thumbnail hadn’t revealed much of its contents, and yet, there was that _fear_ burrowing into his chest. Akira heard how hard his heart beat within his hears, even brought a hand up to feel the quadruple-time pounding of the muscle within his chest. He felt his throat constrain with the anxiety gripping around his neck, feared the tunnel vision that closed in on his stare as he eyed the file longer and longer.

He didn’t know when he had pressed play on it, but what greeted him was the sound of a woman’s voice, cheerful and content.

_“Log number 365 of the Kogane no Kodomo Orphanage. The date is the second of June, 2009. Subject number 12 has been the only one to successfully transition from Phase Four, to Phase Five.. He’s always been a special one, that boy. Bright, smart, in tune with himself.. This is the final trial of the experiment.”_

The camera cut from its previous-black, to a desolate, dark room. Akira, through the grainy footage, could only make out what seemed to be a metal table with a singular bulb shining below it, low from the ceiling and hovering above the young boy (he couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven years old, Akira _swore _by it) seated beneath it.

He felt his heart stop when he saw the head of short, brown hair, look up from staring into the table, cold, dead, red eyes staring back at the camera.

_“Hello again, Goro! How was your day?” _

The boy shrugged, shoulders lifting up and dropping down lifelessly as if a ragdoll pulled by strings. It unnerved Akira to look into those unblinking, _soulless_ eyes. He didn’t want to believe the anxiety-induced thoughts screaming into his head.

_“Loki wouldn’t stop bullying me.” _

_“**Oh**, Loki is being mean again?” _

The boy nodded silently, the movement of his head so minimal that Akira had _barely_ caught it.

_“And Robin didn’t stop him?” _

The boy shook his head.

_“Robin wasn’t there.” _

_“Where was Robin then, Goro?” _

He seemed to shift uncomfortably on his seat, a small metal chair that looked cold and uncomfortable. The entire setup looked as if it were an interrogation room, and the thought made Akira’s skin _crawl_.

_“Loki locked him up.” _

_“How?” _

_“.. Chains.” _

_“Why?” _

And there was silence for a solid minute. The red eyes looked down upon his hands under the table, a deep frown pulling down those pale, _pale_ cheeks.

_“Robin said Loki always lies.” _

_“Interesting.. What does Loki tell you, Goro?” _

Then looked straight into the camera, so focused and the stare so cold that Akira heard himself gulp at the intensity of the rage spilling into those eyes.

_“That I’m going to hurt everyone.” _

_“You don’t want to do that, do you?”_

Again, a shake of the head— and yet this time, it had been more furious, more _unhinged_. The boy had no trace of anger spelling over his features, and yet, even as he sat there quietly, staring into the camera, Akira could read the rage clear as day in his eyes.

_“I want to hurt the people that hurt my mom.” _

_“Ah, yes. Has she appeared in any of your dreams again, Goro?” _

_“.. No.” _

_“Since when?” _

_“Since Loki showed up.” _

Another pause, another few minutes of silence. From out of the frame, Akira heard what sounded like a cart being pulled closer, something swiped off a metallic tray.

_“Well, would you like to ask Loki why?” _

The boy lifted his right arm onto the table, palm up, relaxed, almost as if he’d been used to it— As if he’d _expected_ this to happen.

What followed next was a woman in a white lab coat coming into frame, short, black hair with straight bangs framing her face (a _too-familiar_ face) and rectangular glasses perched atop her nose. Around her neck looked to be a lanyard with an identification card, and in her gloved hands, a syringe full of a sickly-yellow fluid.

It made him want to puke when Wakaba Isshiki had so casually pressed the needle into the boy’s arm, next to multiple other holes that seemed to have _barely_ healed over. The skin of the boy’s arm looked bruised red and irritated from the abuse, and yet, his face not once shifted in emotion.

When the fluid was injected into his veins, it didn’t take too long before his features contorted into pain, into _anger_. He held his head in his hands, fingers gripping at chestnut brown locks, pulling and pressing his face against the metallic table as he _screamed_.

His voice echoed off the walls, a loud, ear-bleeding, curdling _shriek_ of pain and rage as his body shifted and quivered violently, even kicking the table forwards just a bit with the strength he had.

And that was when Akira saw it, just above his head, floating amongst the darkness that surrounded him.

Its figure was.. so distorted that Akira could barely make heads or tails of it. He’d caught a glimpse of black and white stripes that seemed to start and end both nowhere and everywhere all at once. He saw the horns sticking from the top of its head, the long, black braids swishing behind it, the red, ominous aura that surrounded its form. It was almost immediately after the figure (whom he could only assume was “_Loki_”) materialised into a barely-coherent figure did it phase into an entirely new one— shedding its reds and blacks for blue and gold. A much more human-shaped figure. A gold-winged helmet on its head. A golden bow and arrow in its hands. It materialised quicker than the other figure had, seemingly as if fighting to get to the boy first.

And when the figure had leaned over protectively amongst the boy, Akira saw the other one take shape behind him and point a large, red sword at something behind the camera.

Akira could only guess it was pointed at Wakaba.

_“**YOU WILL NOT HARM HIM FURTHER.**” _

The booming voices sounded distorted, yet synched in perfect unison as they huddled over the boy— the boy whose chestnut brown hair looked too, eerily similar. Whose lifeless, red eyes were shaped like _his_. Whose small nose was like _his_. Whose scream sounded _too_ reminiscent of _his_.

“What are you watching?”

Akira felt his blood freeze in his veins.

Goro’s voice had queried in curiosity at first, and yet, Akira was unmoving in his spot as Goro’s eyes slid from him, to the screen. By that point, the boy in the video log had looked back up at the camera, tears sliding down his cheeks, a snarl firm on his lips.

_“Robin Hood! Loki!”_

And Goro stayed quiet, standing still and silent just behind Akira as the log continued.  
It showed the boy getting to his feet, his hands flat on the table. It showed the two seeming to struggle as they moved with him, two gigantic figures compared to the small boy. It showed them trying to channel a ball of energy together, growing bigger, _bigger_ up until a gun cocked out of frame, the boy’s name (“_Goro Akechi_”) hissing from the woman’s lips impatiently. It showed him screaming the two figures’ names over and over, all until they faded out of existence and the boy had been left to collapse onto the table, his small arms threatening to give under his weight, his body shaking.

Goro’s hand went to the spacebar, paused the video. He felt the man’s stare bore down into him, who sat on the chair, frozen and unmoving with lips tightened into a straight line and with brows furrowed in confusion and anger and.. and _hurt_.

“I don’t.. I don’t _remember this,_” Goro had spoken up, sometime after Akira continued to stare at the screen in shock. His voice shook with confusion and fragile faux-stability, a _fear_ present in his tone. “Akira.. What _is_ this?”

Nakura’s words echoed back at him.

“The _truth_.”

Akira held his head in his hands, eyes to his lap, his mind racing.

“It’s the _truth_,” he repeated, “It’s the goddamn _truth_ of what he’s been doing.. What is he planning with this.. What does he intend to _do_..”

Akira was a muttering mess as Goro stared at him with his eyes, slowly, drop by drop and second by second, filling with _anxiety_.

“What— _Who?_” Akira jumped when he felt hands on his shoulders, Goro forcing him to _look_ at him. “_Who_? What is this? Who did this to me? _Why can’t I remember it_?”

And Akira, with eyes still widened in shock, looked up at him— and it was the first time that Goro’s seen true _fear_ in a man’s eyes, in such a long, _long_ time.

“Masayoshi Shido..” he muttered, felt his lips move though he couldn’t fully process what he’d just said, “Masayoshi Shido. The prime minister. He’s the one behind this.”

Goro felt his entire world crumble into pieces around him.

* * *

Haru Okumura was as lovely and sweet as the last time he’d seen her in person. With her back straightened and a cup of tea in her hands, the polite lady (with a smile that shone and eyes that could _kill_) greeted them as they’d entered her chambers through a back entrance in her estate. The night was late and the moon shone through large windows as her voice echoed through the high ceilings, sweet as candy yet heavy like the empire she ruled over.

“Hello again. I trust you’re all in good health?”

Those dagger-sharp eyes of hers slid over to Futaba, who’d looked instead at the fire blazing next to her table’s fireplace. It wasn’t in any threat, yet being scrutinised under Haru Okumura’s gaze felt as if being looked at by an empress herself. Akira saw the concern in her stare more clearly as he’d plucked the mask clean off his face, a tired smile making its way to his lips.

“We’re doing okay, Haru. Thanks for meeting with us on such short notice.”

“It was nothing, Arsene. _Please_, sit. I feel this may be a long discussion.”

They’d settled into their seats quietly, the furnishings of the room mostly made of mahogany and lined with silver— from the Queen-sized bed in front of the large, circular table which they sat around, to the dressers and door handles. Whenever they’d visited Haru, the sweet, distinct smell of flowers and plants seemed to forever permeate her residence, and there looked to be more pots and ferns decorating the room than he last remembered.  
Futaba leaned back with her face to the ceilings as she breathed laboured breaths in and out. Though she was mostly carried there by Akira on his back, flying down the high walls surrounding their patron’s mansion had winded her enough from the sheer _speed_ of which they moved.

“Cocoa, Futaba?” Haru had offered, a gentle smile on her cheeks— that which Futaba gratefully returned as the iced beverage was slid over to her.

Amongst Futaba’s quiet slurps and the tap of Akira’s gloved fingers on the armrest of his chair, Morgana spoke.

“My Lady,” he had nodded first, once his and Haru’s eyes met, “Next Wednesday, we set off for Nagano.”

“Ah, did something new come up in your investigation?”

“A mole in Ikebukuro gave Arsene quite.. _interesting_ information. We believe it necessary to look into, both for the case regarding Masayoshi Shido _and_ Futaba’s mother.”

The air grew thick with tension as _she_ was mentioned, silence ticking by in what felt like _eternities_. By that point, all three of them had seen the video logs, knew what Wakaba Isshiki did whenever she’d gone on her long work trips (as mentioned by Futaba) and had painted a clearer picture of the woman their teammate always admired and mourned. Now, as Futaba stared into her drink (a heavy weight on her shoulders and her lips pinned into a deep frown) there seemed to only be _betrayal_ lingering on her brown-purple gaze, a deep confusion piercing the soul behind her eyes.

Of course, as shocked as he was to have watched just a single video of the entire set of phases, he could only imagine what swirled beneath his sister’s skin at the mere _thought_ of what her mother had done after going through most (if not _all_) of the logs.

“I presume this is.. not the best of topics to divulge.” Haru shook her head, long, brown curls bouncing as she did. “In any case, I’ll have a house rented off within the city. Would this be another _longer_ infiltration for you?”

Morgana nodded in response, lips tight.

“It might be. We have the coordinates of the destination but we still have to check into things to see if it’s as secure as we think it is.”

“Alright then.”

Short. Clipped. Clean and sweet. It was how Haru had always spoken to them.  
She had always been one not to ask them many questions— or at least, very _specific_ questions. She left them to their own devices, knowing only what she _had_ to know to help them. Akira had never quite been sure if it was because she trusted them _that_ much, or if it was because she, too, felt the precariously-thin tightrope they balanced across.

Still, Akira wouldn’t place the blame on her if it was the former— After all, she had said it herself once before. They’d set her _free_.

It was when they were doing smaller thieving jobs on a regular did news of Kunikazu Okumura’s rumoured worker abuse start to surface amongst the voices of Shinjuku. Among them, as he sat at the end of the counter at a bar called Crossroads, was a voice he’d always been intent to lend an ear to.  
Because though Ohya had loose lips as she drank, she was careful not to reveal anything that could get her into _deep shit_— at least, not with just _anyone_. Through a series of lies and fake masks and smiles that he used to _charm_, he’d been able to persuade her to spill the secrets she knew about Kunikazu Okumura.

That he had a daughter he was going to sell off soon. That he had been denying his employees their rights as human beings and made them pull just about a hundred hours’ worth of overtime a _week_. That, supposedly, he was putting _things_ into his products that made them so addicting.

That _thing_, as their group later found out, were just the tiniest hints of a stimulant that got their customers _hooked_ on Okumura’s brand.

Of course, when they’d gotten enough information on Kunikazu Okumura, they’d done their usual: Threaten. Wait. Blackmail.

And it would’ve been just as any of their other missions had been, if not for what broke out on the same news broadcast when the police had escorted Okumura out of his building with cuffs around his wrists. He looked dishevelled, _defeated_, with shame weighing his body and dishonour clouding his eyes.

It happened much too fast, yet all the details still remained singed into Akira’s memories. At first, Kunikazu Okumura hadn’t put much of a struggle up, but when they’d neared the police car, he’d ducked free from one of the police officers’ holds and grabbed the gun clean off his holster. The _BANG_ of the weapon firing off still rang in Akira’s ears during some nights, and though he hadn’t realised when exactly he’d shut his eyes, peeling them open revealed bodies on the driveway.

Kunikazu Okumura had killed himself as well as one of the other officers in the task force surrounding his penthouse building, injuring five others.

Though Akira was not the one pulling that trigger (though he had been _far _from the scene where it had happened) he still felt his hands soaking in the blood that began to drip from the hole in Okumura’s throat. When his lifeless, limp corpse fell to the driveway, Akira nearly puked in the middle of Leblanc.

Thus, began his nightly retreat to the bars in Shinjuku. Probably the only night he didn’t get shitfaced off his goddamn mind was when Morgana dragged his hungover ass to a place in the outskirts of the city, his vision swirling and his feet unsteady as he looked upon the young woman with short, brown curls, dark chocolate eyes swimming in _appreciation_.  
When Akira belatedly realised who the girl bowing her head to them even _was_, he was too surprised to find he didn’t go home that night with a cut in his throat or with a black eye, at _least_; Instead, he made a new friend, a girl who claimed she owed them “_everything_”, who thanked them too profusely for “_freeing_” her father’s people.

That same year, The Metaverse arose from the depths of the red light district.

He could never thank Haru enough for funding them as she did, even as the years passed and their excursions became more and more _dangerous _in nature. She seemed even _more_ supportive of them, even, and although it’d taken months before Akira stopped feeling a sense of guilt cut into his heart like a knife burrowing through his flesh whenever he talked to her, her sweet, caring nature eased him into a genuine friendship with the woman.

And yet, even as she sipped tea and looked to him gently (expecting him to bear the bad news that weighed the air with each second that passed,) Akira reeled under the pressure, the rubber that’d stretched— all until it _snapped_.

“We have to relocate.”

He didn’t miss the way his lips never said the word ‘_might_’.

“Something bad is going to happen, I can _feel_ it. When that happens, all that’s left to do is get us as far away from here as possible and wait out the storm.”

Akira was right about at least one thing about himself: He _was_ greedy.

When silence lingered in the air, Akira found himself gnawing at his bottom lip, the worry manifesting itself clearly onto his features. From his peripheral, he saw the way his companions had tensed (saw the way Futaba sucked in a sharp breath, saw how Morgana had closed his eyes as if to let the information seep into his thoughts) and though he knew it would feel like being shot at a hundred times over, they had to make this sacrifice. They had to set their defences, put their priorities on protecting the _King_ of their chess game against Shido— because once they were put in _check_, it would already be game over.

With a finality, Haru set her cup down. The _clink_ of porcelain on porcelain rang in his head like bullets ricocheting.

“How do you both feel about this?”

“I agree with Arsene, actually,” came Morgana’s verdict, hands joined together under his chin. “It didn’t feel right when Arsene was shot and the people that did it never went for the kill. They had a clear shot to his head— why did they shoot his arm instead?”

They knew why. Akira just didn’t like to think about it.

“It was most likely a warning. We already know the target knows we’re on the move. He wanted to get his threat across, and that he did. It’s been too easy on us for the past few months, and I fear it will culminate into something _far_ worse than a graze to the arm.”

Haru nodded quietly, gaze shifting to the redheaded woman sitting to her right. This entire time, Futaba had stared into her drink, knees huddled up to her chest.

“Oracle?”

The only thing that snapped Futaba from her whirlwind of thinking was Haru’s hand coming to grip her shoulder. She looked at them wildly for a second, eyes darting to each of the three that sat around her, their gazes carrying various degrees of uncertainty and concern.

“I think he’s right..” Futaba mumbled, “And I think it’s a good idea but..”

At this point in their years-long friendship, it didn’t take much to read into the words that should’ve followed from her lips. She was hesitating in this, that much was obvious, and it didn’t take them very much to dwindle it down to _Sojiro_.  
Futaba loved Sojiro. He was the only one that had _truly_ been with her since the downfall, since the very beginning of the end. He had fought tooth and nail to get her out of her uncle’s prison of a home, did all he could to keep the government from clawing Futaba out of his grasp, from taking her back to that _Hell_. Sojiro Sakura had been patient with her, cared for her the best he knew how to, and though she was blinded by her sorrow, the love she carried for Sojiro (for her _father_) would never have topped anything else.

Which is why she hesitated.

“Sojiro will be heartbroken.”

Futaba nodded stiffly at his words, eyes down to her drink once more.

“I don’t want to hurt him. He’s already done so much for me..” Shook her head. “I _know_ we can’t risk it, that if I stay behind it’ll be easy for Shido’s dogs to get to me and you both won’t be there to keep me safe— but the thought of disappearing and leaving Sojiro without him even knowing _why_ for how long..”

It was hard. It felt like Death had cast upon you itself and you had to stand there and watch the people you loved mourn and grieve for you, never knowing if you were safe, never knowing if you were even _alive_. It was a feeling that Futaba had been acquainted with _too_ well, had lived with the _second_ she realised her mother was never coming back.

And now, she was presented with the choice to do it to Sojiro, if only for the greater good. Akira wondered, had Wakaba Isshiki felt this way when she left Futaba?

He hoped she did. He hoped that her mother hadn’t left her for a cold, distant, _heartless_ reason.

“You can think it over for a while, Futaba,” he said, tone heavy, “And when you’re ready, we’ll make our move.”

“Just to be safe, I’ll have that arranged, as well. The best we can do for now is have you out of Tokyo.”

“Thanks, Haru..”

It wasn’t too long after that that they’d gotten up to take their leave, the coffee Haru had left for him untouched and gone cold. As always, Morgana stayed behind to converse further with Haru, a hand in his pocket seeming to pull out an envelope— and yet, before Akira grappled from that window with Futaba clinging onto his neck from his back, the woman seemed to look into his eyes through the mask with something sorrowful in her gaze.

Like always, he decided not to think about it. Some things were best left in the back of his brain.

* * *

_“I’ll be back. I love you.”_

It was the last thing he’d said to Goro, the night before Wednesday, leaving Mona there, too. Akira announced his club would be closed for the entirety of August, and so he mostly spent his free nights with his lover at either of their apartments.

Ever since the incident with Goro witnessing the video log of Wakaba Isshiki’s research, they had opted not to discuss it. It was a silent agreement that they read in each other’s eyes the next time they had met after it.  
And yet, whenever they laid atop each other on those quiet nights, there always seemed to be a _fear_ swimming deep beneath the specks of Goro’s red eyes. He seemed on edge even as he relaxed, looked like his thoughts were jumbled as if a hurricane had come and passed— and Akira knew why. Akira knew _exactly_ why. Lost memories of a childhood he could never dig up from the depths of his brain had made Goro restless with worry chipping away at his mind. He wanted to know _why_, wanted to know how the damn Prime Minister of the country could _possibly_ be connected to him and his past.

If Akira wasn’t going to Nagano for the sake of uncovering the truth for Futaba, then he was well doing it for _Goro_.

But still, that didn’t stop Akira from being concerned for the man the morning he’d left his and Ann’s apartment. After the Sunday meeting with his father, Goro looked the worst he’d ever seen him— pacing around his bedroom, hair a wild mess from tugging and running his hands through it, eyes filled to the very _brim_ with anxiety, his lip bleeding from how hard he bit down on it as he thought and let the thoughts consume him.

When they laid on each other, naked, breathless, yet too scared to sleep even with each other’s presence there, Akira had kissed Goro’s lips with a sweet kiss that he only _hoped_ conveyed the love he felt for the dancer.

And then he said those words.

_“I’ll be back. I love you.” _

With the police sirens blaring from outside The Metaverse, Akira cursed himself for having to break that promise.

He had been packing his things into his suitcase when he saw the blue and red lights shining from outside his window, the _screech_ of rubber on asphalt stopping at the _last_ place he wanted them to. He was no fool. This wasn’t just another check to see if his club had been doing things that the law considered _legal_. They were there for him.

He felt his phone vibrate with text upon text and missed call upon missed call as he shoved his suit and his mask into the bag, zipping it shut quickly and dragging it with quickened steps into his closet.

There was a banging on his front door. Akira couldn’t hear much aside from the rapid-fire pounding of his pulse in his ears.

“AKIRA KURUSU! YOU ARE UNDER ARREST!”

Ah, shit. _Great_. Nijima was the one on his ass.

_BANG _

_BANG _

_BANG_

And they had a battering ram to his door. Fucking _great_.

When push came to shove and he heard the _CRACK_ of his front door being broken down (followed by steps that came from _way _too many people,) Akira smashed the bottom of his suitcase into the weakened wood in the back of his closet, quickly hopping down though the splinters had cut his skin open. His steps were hurried and panicked even as he willed his mind to think clearly, adrenaline flooding his veins and heart pounding in his ears, and once he’d reached the bottom of the narrow corridor, he kicked open the white door at the end of his path.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit—_

He found himself at The Metaverse, heart racing as he jumped each step down from the second floor.

_“SEARCH EVERY ROOM! HE CAN’T HIDE FOR LONG!” _

Even from down in the club, he could hear the mass of footfalls searching his apartment, the blaring noise of police sirens and too many voices through the wall separating them. He ran to the bar, pulled out a lighter from the bottom drawer. His mind ran on autopilot as he smashed bottles of alcohol onto the floor of the club and around the bar. When he heard the thunder of steps stumble down the staircase of the second floor, he threw the flame onto the alcohol.

Between him and the police officers that aimed their guns at him, a fire blazed before his eyes.

And yet, the time he had to catch his breath hadn’t come just yet. He still had to deal with possibly being shot at from outside.

As Nijima spoke into her radio, Akira Kurusu fled to the outside.  
The first thing he’d seen were the lights, a mass of red and blue lighting up the streets around his home and the shine of flashlights pointed to him as he burst out the door. With suitcase in hand, he’d held both his arms up in the air, sirens and what looked like a sea of blue uniforms surrounding him.

He had to _think_. He had to find an opening. His eyes searched even as he felt blinded by all the lights pointed at his face, strained to even see what was around him.

When there looked to be no other option, he ran.

He made a sharp turn to one of the alleyways beside The Metaverse, had to duck out the way when glass from his apartment windows burst open with flame licking into the air. Immediately, there were guns trained and shooting at him, and Akira had to zigzag his way in the dark as he heard _BANG_ after _BANG_ chase him, fly past his head, missed a bullet to the leg by a hair’s breadth.

_Just a little more—_

He spotted a chain fence to his left, threw his bag and hopped over it.

_Just a **little** more—_

There were police already at the end of the alley, and so he turned a quick right.

_Closer—_

Left.

** _Closer_ ** _—_

Forwards.

“_Fuck_—!”

A hand grabbed his neck, pulled him into a space in the wall behind a dumpster. When Akira tried to punch the assailant behind him, a black-gloved hand grabbed his wrist.

“_Quiet_.”

The sound of Morgana’s voice had plunged him into momentary relief. If _he_ was there, then it meant their rendezvous point wasn’t too far off.  
He couldn’t relax _yet _though. Around them, a cacophony of sirens beat into his hearing. Akira tried to seize back control of the heart thumping against his chest, pounding a war drum in his ears.

“Is Futaba safe?” he managed to breathe, every hair standing on end as voices yelled around them.

“At the van. She heard plans of your arrest happening on the wire.”

_Fuck._

“Any reason why?”

“Trespassing, possession of firearms, mass homicide— Do you want the full list?”

“_Fuck _no.” He sucked in a breath, watched with eyes widened in alarm as a flashlight passed by the alleyway they hid within. When seconds passed after it disappeared, he followed Morgana as the man pushed himself up, wasting no time to dive into another turn deeper in the labyrinth of the red light district.

“We parked the van near here,” he whispered, head low as he sneaked down the paths, “We were about to pick you up.”

“Thank _fuck_. I would’ve been screwed if I had to go out into Shibuya.”

“Yeah, no kidding..”

Soon, they happened upon a black van, fitted snugly within the alleyways. Morgana knocked upon the doors at the back, the sound of it unlocking following soon after. When they’d climbed in and Akira counted the seconds to catch his breath, they were off into the night.

_“I’ll be back. I love you.” _

Akira cursed under his breath as the lights of Shinjuku passed by the tinted black windows of the van.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DABS  
DOES THAT END FEEL LIKE IT ISN'T REALLY THE END ?? BC IT'S N O T LMAO  
originally, i was planning on making this a gigantic around 13k-15kish chapter but then i thought  
pacing  
so im splitting it up into two chapters, which is where track 28 comes into play  
i've actually begun writing track 28 and expect to finish it in around two or three days, so extra update soon y'all lmao 
> 
> how is it  
did i set up the dominoes in this stack good enough for the fallout to be d e c e n t smksmskmsksm  
excuse me while i go back to writing that next track y'all. thanks for reading and for almost 2k hits omg im ye l li n g 
> 
> listen list !!  
stelouse - shivers n gold  
j^p^n - pity  
j^p^n - clover  
bts - interlude:shadow (full version)


	30. Track 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a trip to nagano.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fingerguns  
Gun warning at the start of the BANG

A promise was a promise. Goro Akechi knew better than to hold onto them, and years’ worth of the life he’s lived had taught him a lesson best learned through raw experience— and yet, in a fraction of the time he’s known suffering, his heart had softened enough for him to start believing in such fickle things. He knew he shouldn’t have, but the honesty of Akira’s eyes as he whispered those words to him made Goro want to.

Despite all the things that’d happened, he would.

Akira Kurusu was a man who promised him many things: Comfort, connection.. The warmth of skin, the vulnerability of his heart.. He promised Goro happiness and love, time as he asked for it, distance when he needed it. Though there were no words spoken into the air, Akira read him like an open book.

A book with torn pages, as it seemed to be. A book with paragraphs highlighted in permanent marker.

He couldn’t quite describe the cocktail of emotions that clouded his mind as he’d heard the small voice come from his laptop. It sounded familiar like a distant memory, a song he hadn’t heard in years. Maybe he felt the phantom pricks of pain that nipped at the back of his head as he watched the boy in the video writhe and struggle, or maybe he felt the anger that blazed in his wide (yet dull) red eyes. Maybe he felt confusion as he realised who the boy was, and maybe he felt a part of his mind ripped to shreds at the revelation that there was a missing piece in his life, a gigantic chunk of memories and time he couldn’t for the life of him recall.

Whatever it might’ve been that hailed the most prevalent in his emotions, he followed the choreography his body and mind set out for him.  
He hadn’t been in control when he grabbed Akira’s shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his sweater as if Akira was a tether between reality and fantasy; He hadn’t been in control when his lips moved of their own accord, spewing the words that paced around his mind at a mile a minute speed; He hadn’t been in control when the tears built at the corners of his eyes and he’d realised he basically _pounced_ on the man who looked every bit of scared and confused as _he_— And maybe the _exact_ second he’d even taken back control of what he was doing was when a name uttered out of his lover’s lips, said with so much genuine _fear_ as if it was a forbidden call to the Devil himself.

Masayoshi Shido.

The man was just about the most powerful figure in the country. He’d been its prime minister since the days Goro had still lived within Starlight Studios: He had wealth, power, and the _people_ on his side; He was also Goro Akechi’s father, from whose seed he was born from.

For the majority of his twenty-four years, Goro sought the answers to where his family had disappeared to. His mother, a lovely woman in her late twenties (if he recalled correctly,) had all but vanished into thin air one night after he’d turned nine years old. He waited for her, of course: He did what he could to hold out for just a little bit more, for just another day and night, because she would be back. She _would_ return to him. His mother loved him. He was sure of it.

When two weeks came and passed and he’d just about eaten through what little they had in their fridge, the authorities came for him. They placed him in Kogane no Kodomo. He protested and told them that his mother had simply gone out for an errand. He held the argument out for all his days there. _That_ was what he knew.  
He knew that he’d been kept there since he was nine. He knew that he was transferred around the orphanages of the other prefectures. He knew that he excelled in his studies and that he was tormented by the other kids for looking too feminine for his own good. He _knew_ that he was never once taken to a dark room and screamed until his voice turned hoarse.

He never saw the two, towering figures before. Not until Akira gifted him with the pendant around his neck.

His father was.. an entirely different story, one that Goro would rather keep hidden under lock and key to his death.

And yet, despite every warning sign that glowed and flashed at his face, he still believed the fantasy of being loved and acknowledge by the man would come to unfold.

Meeting his father after the supposed “_truth_” Akira had revealed about him felt strange in his gut. He’d been having his suspicions of the politician, chose to will it deep into the nooks and crannies of his brain because he’d long _yearned_ for a moment of acknowledgment from his father, but the revelation of his missing memories and the fact that it tied back to the man sitting on a luxurious office chair before him made Goro uneasy as he shifted in his seat. Before him, the assorted sweets remained untouched and the coffee only _barely_ sipped.

“Is there something bothering you, son?”

There it was. That word. It sounded strange coming out so soft and almost sickly-sweet from the man’s normally-booming and dominating voice— the one most people of Japan had heard in the six years he reigned as prime minister.

“Nothing, father.”

It felt _wrong_.

Goro chose to sip at his coffee more, back stiff as he sat there. For a while, he held the cup in his lap, stared at the muddled reflection looking back up at him through the drink. It was nowhere _near_ as good as Leblanc’s.

“You aren’t talking as much,” Shido had said, leaning forward now. The eyes filtered yellow behind his glasses bore into Goro’s skull, and he had to will himself to meet the man’s stare. “We don’t get to meet often but you always have stories to tell.”

“Not much happened since the last time we met,” he reasoned, “Class is still class, my roommate is still my roommate.”

“And what about this _Akira_ you keep mentioning?”

Suddenly, it felt like there was a blade to his throat. Goro breathed in slowly, forced his own heartbeat to cooperate with him here. He could feel his hands growing sweaty beneath the black gloves he wore.

His father had never much mentioned the names of the people Goro told him about.

“He’s still Akira.”

_Don’t ask about him. Don’t ask about him. Don’t ask about him. _

“He’s the one with the club, isn’t he?”

Goro gulped, tried to make it seem as casual as he could in the moment.

“Yeah, he’s— He’s still running it. I still go there. Same old.”

Shido’s hum rang in the air of his office, a place high above the other buildings in Roppongi. He supposed it fit the man who stood above everything else in Japan.

“You don’t talk about him a lot these days.”

_Lie. _

“We had a fight,” Goro sighed, eyes closing as he leaned back into the plush upholstery of his seat, “It’s not something I want to talk about.”

He could _feel_ that gaze trying to read into him.

“Talking about it could make you feel better.”

He was _daring_ Goro to talk about it.

“It’s not important.”

That blade pressed harder against his neck.

“Tell me about it.”

Goro breathed another sigh, eyes peeling open slowly. If he had to slip on a mask again and curate a web of lies to satisfy his father, then so be it.

“He borrowed something of mine without asking me first. It’s something important to me, so I got angry and confronted him about it. He said it shouldn’t have mattered that he took it.”

Shido nodded solemnly, the look in his eyes probing Goro to continue.

“I asked him time after time to give it back and he would always refuse. He still hasn’t returned it, so we’re avoiding each other.”

“Sounds like a thief to me.”

The cut on his skin just about felt _real_ when those words were left to linger in the air.

He fucked up.

“Not so much of a thief as he is a nosy friend,” Goro shook his head, manipulated his face into a calm demeanour. “He’s like a cat that takes your things just because he feels like it.”

“A cat burglar then,” Shido laughed, and only hearing the sound felt unnatural even as he chortled and chuckled. It didn’t fit him, not at _all_.

“Maybe.” He took another sip. “The one who has Mother’s necklace.”

The room stilled into silence. Goro would keep his gaze on the coffee in his cup, eyes hooded as a sour frown pulled from the corner of his lips. It was a lie, he held none of her possessions save for a piece of paper hidden in his drawers, but if his _father_ was going to probe about his life, then it was damn well time that he probed into the places Goro wanted answers to.

“Your mother, hm?”

Goro’s eyes slid over to the man, who’d leaned back in his chair with his hands joined.

“She was a lovely woman. You look like her.”

Well, Goro already knew _that_.

“What was she like when you knew her?”

There was something like _annoyance_ that crossed the man’s eyes, one that Goro caught even as quick as it disappeared.

Goro had always been good at that.

“Minako was sweet. She had a nice voice.”

His mother had always sung him to sleep. What else was there?

“Mother once told me that you were fond of seafood.” A lie.

“Did she now?” Shido chuckled, “Well, everything she made tasted like seafood— raw most of the time, but good.”

He was either bluffing or ignorant. His mother was an exquisite cook.

“What I’d do to taste Minako’s cooking again..”

Shido closed his eyes as he mumbled, looking as if he reminisced on old memories. It was an obvious attempt at seeming sincere, but a good move nonetheless. Goro could at least give him that.

“Yes, I’m certain Mother would love to have us all together, as a family.”

“If only she were here, right, Goro?”

Goro decided on one thing that afternoon: He hated hearing his father say his name. Though he’d felt sour about the entire thing during the rest of their meeting, it’d at least given him _one_ thing— He knew that she was gone.

“Yes..” He nodded, cup to his lips once again, “If only.”

* * *

A promise was a promise. Akira would keep his promise. Goro had to _trust him_ to.

Even as he watched the news on Thursday morning.

Images of a burning building flashed before his eyes, flames spewing from all the windows Goro had more than once gazed out of. As the anchors spoke, a video of the aftermath played, showing the charred rubble and remains of what once stood of The Metaverse.

_“On Wednesday night at 11:49PM, a local club in Kabukicho, Shinjuku was set on fire. The owner of the club, Akira Kurusu, was being prosecuted for multiple charges including kidnapping, mass homicide and terrorism, and it is under investigation whether the fire was caused by the suspect or not. The police are currently investigating the whereabouts of the suspect after he fled the scene.” _

A mugshot of Akira was portrayed on the screen, one where he looked _much _too young, _much_ too scared. He’d been clothed in a white sweater lined in black, his hair a mess and his wide eyes clearly conveying a fear for his life. He held a card in his hands that showed a jumble of letters and numbers, and judging by the height chart he’d stood in front of, the man was merely in the beginnings of _high school_ when it was taken.

_“Akira Kurusu was charged with physical and sexual assault as a minor, only receiving a probation period for his crimes. Given his past criminal records, it could be implied that the suspect had never truly been reformed.” _

Another photo of Akira popped into frame, a much more recent one— One that Goro remembered was taken during last year’s Ultra Japan.

_“The suspect is described as a man with long, curly, black hair and black eyes, early twenties. He is six feet tall and slim in build with no other identifying marks. If you have any information on Akira Kurusu, please contact the authorities.” _

Goro felt himself flinch as a hand gripped his shoulder, stare darting towards the blonde woman sitting beside him on the living room couch. Ann’s features were contorted in a mix of alarming concern, with lips parted in shock and eyes widened with a tinge of fear.

“Goro..” she breathed, a barely-there word in the air with the quietness and fragility of her voice.

“He’ll be back.” His eyes went back to the screen of the television, brows knitting together. “He promised me he’ll be back.”

“But what about those charges?” Ann had sounded baffled still, and yet, there was just the tiniest sliver of anger lacing her tongue. “That can’t be true! Akira wouldn’t!”

“No, _definitely_ not,” he _hissed_, “The police are pinning false charges on him, and _extreme_ ones. Akira isn’t capable of half the things they’re charging him with.”

** _More_ ** _ than half._

“Why would they, though?”

“I don’t know. He’s only a _club owner_.” _And a thief on the side_. “But this isn’t right.”

“You’re _damn right_ this isn’t _right_!”

There it was now, a fire lighting in her eyes. As if to further emphasise her point, Ann had stood over him (who’d had his legs tucked up to his chest) and held her hands by her hips. Goro saw the way she’d clenched and unclenched her hands as she began pacing around in front of the TV, voice growing more agitated as she rambled.

“Akira, the _Akira_ we know— he wouldn’t do any of those things! He’s no terrorist, and he definitely isn’t a fucking _murderer_. This is _insane_! The police can’t do this! There’s no reason for him to be running from the law!”

“Inside voice, Ann. It’s only eight in the morning.”

She stopped to turn to him, and Goro wouldn’t deny the surprise that struck him realising how that small flame in her stare had so very quickly turned into a _forest fire_.

“Goro, how could you be so _calm_ about this? You _love him_!”

Goro had to breathe in deeply for a second, exhaling slowly before he’d spoken. He had to remain _calm_, guide his heartrate to a more even pace and placate the urge within him to yell back at the implications Ann had made. He had to collect his thoughts— and though he did exactly that, Ann seemed to deflate at the sharp edge his voice had caught on.

“I love him, Ann. I love him more than I could ever love _anyone_— But nothing’s going to happen if we sit here and yell about being angry at the police.”

“And what do _you_ suggest we do?”

He stood to full height then, empty mug in hand and phone in the other. For a split-second, he glanced down upon the device, venom in his eyes lasting just as quickly.

“I used to be a detective, remember?”

He _really_ didn’t want to do this again.

“I’m going to find him— and if I don’t, I’m going to find out why the police suddenly want Akira’s head on a stick.”

But if it was for Akira, then he would go to Hell with a broken leg and a snapped neck to drag him back with him.

* * *

When Akira Kurusu opened his eyes, he saw mountains and trees. Though summer made the greenery’s colours pop, all he saw were through the filtered black of the tinted van windows.

His neck cricked at the little movements he made to sit up, back adding to the symphony of noises his body sounded off in its pained yet numbed position in the back seat. He had managed to fall asleep sitting upright at some point during the night, yet his head had fallen forwards for his chin to rest on his chest, and his spine had curved into himself as he crossed his arms in an effort to preserve some shred of warmth within the cold vehicle. Beneath his feet was his suitcase, and sitting before him, a redheaded woman curled into the foetus position across the entirety of the opposite set of seats.

Everything hurt.

“Where are we now?” he asked, voice raspy and quiet. Glancing towards the rearview mirror, he spotted Morgana’s brilliant blue eyes looking to him before focusing back on the road. Beyond the windows, the sun had begun to peak from the horizon.

“Nagano.”

Oh.

Akira stretched up— as much as he could within the low ceiling of the van, anyway. More cracks and pops emanated from his too-stiff joints.

It was much like a film replaying within his head, even as each scene felt like they came and passed in split-second intervals. He wondered if The Metaverse was still burning, miles and miles behind them; He wondered if news of his arrest had already been made public, his face plastered across the news; He wondered if there was anyone following them as they neared the city of Nagano, wondered if anyone was tailing them or not— He wondered if Goro still held onto the last words he’d said to the man, a promise he’d keep no matter what would happen.

Maybe it was for the best that he didn’t think of Goro for now, what with the ache in his chest that made itself more evident the moment his visage flashed into Akira’s head.

A sigh found its way past his lips, head against the windows and eyes watching the sights that came and passed by them.

“Do you wanna switch? You’ve been driving all night.”

Morgana only shrugged from the driver’s seat.

“We’re only a few minutes away from the house anyway. I’ll get some rest once we get settled in.”

“Sorry.”

Blue flashed in the rearview mirror once more.

“For what?”

Akira wasn’t sure himself.

For what, he wonders?

The house Haru had rented for them was settled just outside the heart of Nagano, tucked between what seemed to be a quiet neighbourhood. It was a single-floor home with pale yellow walls and a black-tiled roof, the garage settled off to the side. Once Morgana had driven them into the city, Akira would have mistaken it for Tokyo with the tall buildings and the life that bustled around, and yet, he couldn’t recognise any of the sights or shops. Maybe it was at that moment, standing in his new room as he thought back to the minutes he spent taking in Nagano from inside the van, that it’d _really _sunk in for him.

He was in Nagano, four and a half hours away from Tokyo.

He was standing in an unfamiliar room with rich, wooden walls and a futon in the corner, windows just across from his bed; Not off to the left, not with pale, grey walls, not with a keyboard in the corner.

He was miles away from a man with chestnut brown hair, whose eyes shone in the sunlight with their small flecks of umber and honey, whose laugh was so warm that it was the music he’d sought to hear for all the years he’d been alive.

Akira stared into the windows, watching as the sun rose from the horizons. The morning didn’t feel the same.

When sleep wouldn’t come after an hour or three of tossing and turning in his new bed, Akira faced the ceiling. He was exhausted out of his mind but his body didn’t want to cooperate with him here, and so, he resorted to flicking through his phone.

Just up until a thought popped into his head, and his thumbs made quick work to look up the location of a certain orphanage. Half an hour of browsing through the pages and maps later, he was out of the house with a hoodie pulled over his head and his glasses set over his face, hair messed up and covering his eyes.

As he walked, Akira had earphones in his ears and his hands in his pockets, head down as Nagano slowly awoke and fell into the motions.  
The neighbourhood was a mostly-residential place, little shops set up every few turns he made. Its air was quiet and its atmosphere was peaceful, and when Akira happened upon someone setting out a little chalkboard scribbled on with prices and a menu, he couldn’t help but stop.

“Good morning!”

Only to immediately keep walking with his head down and his hood pulled farther up when the woman out front beamed and waved at him.

He had somewhere he wanted (_needed_?) to go.

It’d taken him two buses and a few minutes of walking as he followed the map on his phone before Akira found himself staring up at a two-storey building, its architecture making it look like a big home than anything. To the unassuming, one would’ve dismissed it as simply a nice house smack in the middle of the city, but there was no denying the black plate screwed out on the front gate.

_Kogane no Kodomo Orphanage. _

Golden Children Orphanage.

Akira stared at the sign for a bit, crosschecking with his phone to confirm he was at the right place.

What was he even doing here?

“Good morning.”

The gentle voice snapped him out of his reverie, eyes to the elderly woman standing on the other side of the gate as he tugged the earphones off his ears hurriedly. She smiled up at him, a comforting presence.

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

What _did_ Akira even want?

“I was just..”—he shifted a bit, hands in his pockets once again—“Looking for a friend of mine, I guess.”

“Well you wouldn’t find your friend here,” the woman laughed lightly, “Unless your friend is a child.”

“He isn’t, but he acts like one sometimes.” Akira looked down, just the hint of a smile tugging up his cheeks. His voice had grown fond even as his heart began to ache. “Pouty, bounces like a kid when you get him something he likes, throws temper tantrums at some jokes.. A total nerd for Featherman, too.”

There was a chuckle on his lips, as quiet and brief as it was.

“_Yeah_, Goro Akechi _is_ a child.”

“Oh! You’re friends with Goro!”

That made Akira chance a glance at the woman, eyes widened by just a bit in slight surprise. She had clapped her hands together as a fond smile graced her features, memories just flitting in and out of her gaze. 

“That child was such a smart one. _Very_ polite. He was always alone but he was always at the top of his class! He even ended up studying in a prestigious academy in Tokyo from what I heard.”

“Yeah..” he nodded, lips stretched just the slightest bit wider now, too. “He’s an amazing person.”

“When you see him, please tell Goro that he’s always been an amazing boy. He’s always welcome to visit us here again!”

_When you see him again._

Akira took a step back, feeling like he more _held_ his smile now.

“I will.”

“Thank you..” her voice trailed, eyes expectant to him as Akira made to stuff his hands back in his pockets.

“Ren,” he said, “Ren Amamiya.”

* * *

"Grappling hook?" 

The weight hanging onto his belt spoke for itself.

"Got it." 

"Flashdrive?" 

Akira’s fingers felt around in his pocket.

"Right here." 

"Earpiece?" 

He tapped the small piece of metal lodged into his ear, black gloves moving the blonde, straightened hair away.

"Check." 

A beat of silence hung in the air, the tension so thick it would’ve been easy to cut through it with a knife. Futaba, sagging into her seat from the desk in her bedroom, opened and closed her mouth for a bit, the words stuck in her throat, a heaviness in her eyes as her gaze fell to the holster on the other side of his belt.

"Your gun?" 

Akira tried to swallow through his anxiety, the weight of the pistol he got off of Iwai _much_ more pronounced as it hung off his belt now. Stiffly, his head bobbed into a single nod. When a heavy hand suddenly gripped his shoulder, Akira made to look up to his companion, a tired thanks in his eyes at Morgana’s attempt to comfort.

"Okay.." the redhead breathed slowly, moving to slip her headphones around her head. "_Okay_.." 

He'd watch as her eyes shifted over to Morgana, then back to Akira. Easily, he could pick apart the fear apparent in those wide, brown eyes.. Saw how they tried to anticipate the outcome of tonight's events: Think of ten different solutions for each possible situation. Akira had tried to reassure her before all this, but there was no calming the eternal storm of anxiety writhing beneath _all_ their skins, a beast rattling at the cage of their hearts. 

They knew this was all or nothing, and they went into it ready to give everything. 

_Just a few more_. 

Akira slipped the grinning mask onto his face. 

_Just a little bit more. _

He kept chanting it in his head as they drove to the mountains.

Though the night was supposed to be for the sake of checking Aerial Pharmaceuticals’ security, the surrounding forest of the building had been eerily quiet and still. The trees rustled with each breeze that blew past, the moon cast onto them its light as they sneaked around the area, and even after climbing the tall, chain-link fence and hopping over, there were no security dogs barking at them, no guards circling the perimeter. Still, Akira couldn’t help but dart his eyes around with each step they took, each hallway they turned and each room they peered into. His chest felt tight and constricted, and it wasn’t the extra piece of protection tucked beneath his shirts that did it.

Futaba chimed into his earpiece once they’d climbed to the second floor.

_“Security’s down. All the cameras are disabled so I don’t have a visual on you guys.”_

“Copy,” Morgana mumbled, Akira closing yet another door after he’d surveyed the area within.

“It’s just another office”—he went to another door, pulled it open—“I think they’re _all_ offices up here.”

_“Wait, let me go over the blueprints of this place.”_

The faint sound of clacking resounded into Akira’s ears, himself squatted down by a desk in one of the rooms and flicking through the files within. There were naught but profiles on drugs the company was testing, medicines and supplements.

_There has to be something else here.._

_“Oh!” _He almost jumped at that, nerves still on end with how _abandoned_ the place seemed. _“I think there’s a door in one of the rooms up there. End of the hallway.” _

“Thanks, Oracle.”

Morgana was already there by the time Akira exited the room.  
The man motioned for him to step closer as he picked the lock, the blonde’s back to the wall and looking out amongst the long corridor. Though the place looked empty, the lights still seemed to work, if only judging by the illuminated red of the emergency exit Akira stared at.

It didn’t feel right.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this place,” Akira murmured, hearing the lock _click_ with their access, “It almost feels like a trap.”

Morgana clicked a flashlight on once he’d stepped through the door, free arm holding it open as he and Akira looked within. What stared back at them was a longer, darker hallway, devoid of any windows. Its air felt cold and suffocating with its stark, white walls and the just-wide-enough space from wall to wall, stretching just _enough_ like a hospital corridor to an operating room. As Morgana shined the light on the ceiling, there seemed to be lightbulbs encased in red glass lining the path.

Akira felt like he’d see a cloud of smoke blow in front of his face if he breathed out too hard.

“We can always retreat for the night”—even Morgana shuddered as he stepped further into the hallway—“But it’s a good chance for us to sweep over the area while we can.”

He was right. They put priority first on their safety, but..

“No, let’s.. Let’s just see if there might be an escape route first.”

But there was a tug in his chest that almost beckoned him forwards, like strings pulling him down the hallway.

The door behind them clicked quietly as it shut, each step further into the corridor echoing within its confined walls. He felt his heart start to hammer into his ribcage in a slow, gradual pace, almost as if the closer they got to the end of the hallway triggered his pulse to start beating quicker and quicker— and even still, he didn’t dare break what silence hung in the air, what cloak of invisibility he convinced themselves they still had. Akira kept his lips shut in a tight line across his features as he surveyed the walls, finding its too-clean and too-bright white more suffocating the more he saw them.

Once they neared the end, a faint, orange light made itself known: A small arrow pointed downwards, right next to steel doors.

An elevator.

Even in the dark, Morgana’s bright eyes caught Akira’s own, even hidden under his mask. It felt as if they asked each other too many questions in too little time with the uncertainty swimming in their stares and unmoving bodies—“_Should we check it out_,” “_Do we try_,” “_Who should press the button_”—all until Akira felt something within him break and drive his feet towards the elevator, gloved hand already outstretched to press the glowing, orange button—

_Ding_

—until the doors slid open and he made to press his body against the wall beside it, Morgana staring at him with wide, alarmed eyes from beneath his mask on the other side.

Light (almost blindingly bright) flooded the hallway, and when seconds came and passed in which Akira couldn’t even hear the sound of his own breathing, he decided to crane his neck and peer into the elevator.

“I think we should turn back.”

It was empty.

“This can’t be anything else but a trap, we _have_ to turn back.”

The elevator doors remained open.

“Okay.. Okay, we’ll come back another time.”

Akira unstuck himself from the wall, fingers to his earpiece as he whispered.

“Oracle, we’re heading back. Check the blueprints and see if you can find anything on—”

_Click_

The sound of the door closing echoed down the hallway. Almost as if surrounding his head, heels clacked across the floor, louder, _louder_, ringing in his ears the closer it got. He would’ve said that his heartbeat imitated the slow, approaching sound, but it might’ve only been how he felt his heart drop into his stomach.

Frozen, with eyes widened and body stilled in the dark, the hand grasping onto his arm and pulling him back only came to him after he saw the colours of his suit once more, bathed underneath the bright, white light of the elevator.

Before him, the doors closed.

“What the _fuck_—” He wasn’t even sure if it was a yell or a whisper. “_What the fuck._”

“Stay calm, Arsene,” Morgana murmured, stare straight to the numbers on the display above them, “I need you to gather yourself.”

Akira would _love_ that, if only it wasn’t for the damn buzzing in the back of his head. Still, he at least made an _attempt_ at breathing in through his nose, lungs filling to the brim with air before he exhaled, _slowly_— So slowly he thought he would make himself _suffocate_, but it did a bit for his heart to stop beating so damn hard.

It was something Goro had taught him, something that made him calm down.

_Fuck, stop it._

Akira watched the numbers above them drop.

Once another _ding_ resounded around them and the elevator doors slid open, they’d landed on level “_-7_”. Akira wasn’t sure how many feet below the surface they were, but an elevator taking them down seven floors didn’t spell much hope within his head.

Morgana took the first tentative step out of the elevator, Akira following suit quietly. The moment he stood within the dimly-lit hallway (shorter than the one they were in above) he felt his head start to swirl, the buzzing going from zero to a hundred in the span of a split-second.

“_Shit_..”

“Doing okay there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m..” he removed the mask from his face, forehead in his free hand as he made to walk past Morgana. Along the way, he’d tugged down the stocking covering his nose and lips, too. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. Turn the flashlight on, please.”

They walked in silence traversing the corridor.  
It was a shorter walk compared to earlier, but it might’ve only been how quick and hurried their steps were. Akira breathed shallow breaths in and out through his mouth as they moved, anxiety brewing in his mind as they searched for a way out, the buzzing ringing louder with each step farther down they took. If the lack of buttons on the elevator meant anything, then it was that whoever had gone into the hallway from up above had no other place to go but _there_.

A deep breath filled his lungs as he pushed into the door at the very end of the corridor.

And for a moment, he thought he was back in The Metaverse.

Black and red swirls. It engulfed half of the brightly-lit room they’d entered from the far side of where they’d stood. It crept along the white walls almost as if it bled into the room, swallowing whatever else was near it. Akira watched as it _pulsated_ like a heartbeat with black and red talons that twisted and turned, felt as if it pulled him in like the depths of an ocean as his feet brought him closer, a haze occupying his brain along with the white noise that rang in his ears. What was it? Intrigue? Curiosity? Fear, maybe?

Or was it a calling?

He marvelled at the colours as he stood on the edge, jaw slack and lips parted as he ran his eyes over it all: At the thing creeping above his head on the ceiling, at the red that followed black with each pulse it made, at the hypnotic swirl of its centre, that which stared him back in the face.

And then, he saw himself.

The face identical to his own in each and every way looked younger, _alarmed_, with a dagger in his red-gloved hands and a mask over his eyes. Entranced, Akira flitted his gaze to the bodies standing beside the other him, from a rugged-looking boy with strangely-familiar blonde hair, to the brunette with spikes on her brass knuckles. He saw a blonde, twin-tailed girl gripping a whip, a tall boy with silken, blue hair wielding a katana, a brunette with short, curly locks carrying an axe, a small cat on its hind legs with eyes _too much_ like Morgana’s. He watched as a short, redheaded girl dropped down from what looked like a _UFO_ and stare at him— or, well, the _him_ on the other side.

And in the back, he saw something red and brilliant, something he’d seen just nights ago hanging off his lover’s neck. He saw a mask with an elongated nose, the bright eyes underneath looking as baffled as the rest of them.

_“Arsene!_”

Futaba’s voice startled him out of his reverie, the hand gripping onto his mask faltering. Snapping out of his daze, he made an attempt at catching the grinning face, only to stumble and almost trip if not for Morgana’s hand grabbing him by the arm and keeping him from..

_“Joker, what **is** that?!” _

From falling into the other side.

Akira watched as his mask landed onto red gloves, the face that was his blinking out of his own daze as he looked down upon the grinning visage. Dark eyes hidden beneath the black-accented domino mask snapped back up to Akira, and it was only after a split-second of clarity passed did he feel himself getting thrown back against one of the desks that lined the room.

_BANG _

_BANG_

_BANG _

_BANG_

_BANG_

_“Take cover!” _

Shots fired off from the entrance.

It was instinct that made Akira back up against the wood and kick it over, his hands doing quick work at pulling his gun out and holding it close to his chest. He tried to count how many shots rang into the air as he breathed in slowly, an in and out that made his head clear as much as it could while he pressed his back against the makeshift cover of the desk. On another table, Morgana had already begun to fire back.

For a second, his eyes flicked back to the red and black creeping just _feet_ away from his body, and he exhaled.

_BANG _

_BANG _

Akira ducked back down once he saw a gun aimed at him, ears ringing when he heard a body hit the floor. One of the men standing between them and their only escape route had shot a hole on the desk next to Akira’s body, and he sucked in a sharp breath as he made to run to the table in the corner. From his spot, he once more kneeled up, braced his arms onto the table, and shot.

_BANG _

_BANG _

He took one of them down with a shot straight to the head. They had three more to go.

Morgana had looked to him once the man ducked back into his own cover, eyes wide and alert as he nodded to the row of tables in front of them. Akira took the chance to move forwards with his head down the moment he found an opening.

_BANG _

_BANG _

_BANG _

Akira fired another shot, managed to hit one of the men’s shoulders.

_BANG _

_BANG_

He knew Morgana had finished him off when another body hit the floor.

_BANG _

_BANG_

He barely missed a shot to his arm again as he dropped back down.

_BANG_

Hit one of the two remaining in the leg.

_BANG _

Morgana fired the winning shot.

Akira scooted over to the desk closest to the centre of the room as the last of the men reloaded his gun, Morgana already sneaking against the walls to get closer, as well. When their eyes met once more, Akira nodded and kneeled up to fire another support shot for Morgana, brows knitted and sweat sticking to his forehead as he pulled the trigger—

_BANG _

_BANG _

“_Arsene_!”

—Only to fall onto his back from the bullet that collided against his chest.

_BANG_

Akira only faintly heard the last body hit the floor as he stared up at the ceiling, eyes wide and breaths heaving quick and shallow. In a second that felt like an eternity, he saw Morgana staring down at him, the man’s lips moving yet Akira couldn’t register any of the words he had said. His brain had gone into overdrive as he felt his chest, felt the heat where the bullet had landed beneath his fingertips, felt the clamminess of his palms and how _hard_ it was to move them. He heard the rapid-fire beating of his heart pounding in his ears, felt the dizziness that overtook his head, saw the corners of his vision darken as he _tried_ to focus on Morgana and nothing else, blinking and closing his eyes for seconds at a time to _calm down _and _be okay_.

He was _okay_.

But when Akira Kurusu opened his eyes, he saw nothing but a bright, pristine white.

* * *

“Little Prince!”

God _fucking_ dammit, he didn’t want to do this again.

“It’s been a while! You never visit!”

He pulled the gloves tighter over his hands.

“Got no time for me anymore, do you? It breaks my _heart_, just so you know!”

And then smashed his phone onto the ground, adding the heel of his shoe onto it for good measure as he stomped and pressed onto the shattered device. Watching him, the man’s eyes slanted even further with the smile curling up his lips, and like this, he looked more _fox_ than _slippery bastard_— to him, though, there had never been much of a difference.

“Think it might be bugged, hm?”—that grin quirked further up his cheeks, always so gaunt and sunken as if he were on the brink of death—"If you still worked for me, you would’ve gotten rid of it long before you even got here.”

“I don’t have time to reminisce on the past,” Goro replied, voice clipped and curt before he sighed. “I need info, Shimomura.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINGERGUNS  
:^D 
> 
> so read back on the chapters and tell me i never foreshadowed this shit in my writing LMAO 
> 
> [Jhelisa](https://twitter.com/JhelisaJhyena) made some [REALLY HELLA NICE ART FOR M&M](https://twitter.com/JhelisaJhyena/status/1254807095448268800) Y'ALL. Y ' A L L ?? IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL ??? I ACTUALLY SOBBED WHEN I FIRST SAW IT AND CONTINUE TO CRY FROM HOW BEAUTIFUL IT IS ????  
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR COMMISSIONING IT LIA ILY 💕💕💕✨
> 
> see y'all next week for the next chapter !! :^D 
> 
> listen list !!  
stelouse - shivers n gold  
"ugh!" - bts but you're at a party and the police were called so now you’re running away from them  
bts - spring day (no im not kidding LMAO THIS ACTUALLY HELPED ME WRITE THE THING LMAOO)


	31. Track 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> justice.

There had always been a distinct smell that permeated the air of the red light district, like booze and sin slowly enveloping each step deeper into the labyrinth of the area. Though it was so different from the warm, homey smells that Goro had lived amongst for the past few years by then, it was also a scent that he found himself loving when it came to a certain DJ with dark curls and steely, black eyes.

Stepping closer, though, he all but choked on the burning smoke that clouded his senses.

With the number of times that his feet had travelled to The Metaverse, getting there was as easy as turning off his brain and letting himself stride down the paths and streets, an easy glide from the entrance to the deep corner in which the club hid within. With what’d happened, though, it was less _easy stride_ and more _trek to Hell_.  
Even from the streets that led to The Metaverse, police officers and authorities had blended into the usual crowd of the red light district—_much_ more than usual—and it set Goro’s mind into a small frenzy. He had tried to lull himself into a state as calm as he could get as he walked the paths, but with the increasing number of officers and firefighters surrounding him the closer he got to his destination, it proved to be a Herculean task in and of itself. He heard his pulse in his ears, felt the slow trickle of sweat down his forehead and the back of his neck, each individual fold of the leather gloves fitted around his hands as he clenched and unfurled them within his pockets. Though summer was on its way out, it still didn’t compare to what boiled beneath his skin as he turned the corners and ventured deeper into the labyrinth.

When he saw what’d become of The Metaverse, something spiked within him.

Maybe the first thing that Goro had felt was the way his stomach practically had lead dropped straight into it. In just a moment’s passing, there was a buckle in his knees, a creep that shook his body to its bones. He registered the surprised widen of his eyes and the sharp breath taken through his parted lips. He felt himself almost drop to the ground and only _barely_ manage to hold himself up. It was one thing to see it on the news, but it was an entirely different punch to the gut witnessing it before his very eyes.

Though the fire had been tamed, columns of smoke still arose from the building he could once recognise as The Metaverse. Police cars and firetrucks swarmed the area, bright yellow police tape creating a boundary that warned not to get _too _close to what was once a thriving club, and officers coupled in with what looked to be detectives filled in the spaces just _feet_ away from what remained of a home. Among them, Goro recognised a head of brown hair, sharp eyes that never let a thing out of her sight.

Breathing in deeply, calming his heart to stop pounding _so_ damn hard against his chest, he found himself stumbling closer and closer to the woman he had met just _briefly_ in the past he’d rather keep under wraps.

“Officer Nijima,” he had said, either as a way of greeting or as a way of calling out to her. He didn’t know— He wasn’t even sure if his voice had come out as even and straight as he wanted it to. At the sound of her name, the officer had turned to look over her shoulder, and Goro caught the way those dark, crimson eyes snagged between _surprise_ and _shock_, right when she’d registered him standing a few paces away from the police tape. Perhaps, if it would’ve been a time from years past, she would’ve allowed him to inspect the scene himself at the very sight of his presence, dig out whatever clues he could find without having to sneak around the area.

Not now, though. Now, he wasn’t the sharp and skilled detective that the world knew anymore.

“Goro Akechi.” There was something strange about the way she’d uttered his name, something choked and determined all in one as she slipped under the tape to approach him. It was, maybe, how a long-forgotten colleague would say it, when someone of the past once more intertwined with one’s present or future. “What brings _you _here, of all places?”

He shifted weights between his feet, the act of slipping back into old habits coming easy for him even through the years that’d passed. With a small, pleasant smile on his lips and his tone hinting at curiosity, he looked upon the wreckage before him.

“I used to go to this club a lot.”

Those sharp eyes were looking him up and down, he could just _feel_ it: Makoto Nijima’s ever-scrutinising gaze had never relented on any detail, he caught _that_ much from the one and only time they’d met before.

“You don’t look like you’re about to party.”

“Touché,” he chuckled, head shaking just _briefly_ as he set his eyes back onto her form, “In truth, I was curious. My favourite club burned down to the ground and the man who owned it is apparently a”—he grit his teeth, hiding it behind his well-meaning smile—“_terrorist_. You can’t expect me not to poke into it even just a _little bit_.”

“What, dancing has you bored now so you’re coming back to crime scenes?”

He hit a nerve there, he just wasn’t sure _which_.

“It’s a nice opportunity for a change in professions again,” he laughed, smile pleasant still, “But _no_. You’re looking for Akira Kurusu, and probably the only leads you _had_ just _burned in a fire_. As someone who went to his club, I have intimate details on what was where.”

Goro took the squinted, barely-hidden glare aimed at him in stride.

“What are you proposing, Akechi?”

“I’m not proposing _anything_, Officer Nijima!”

_Hook. _

He tilted his head to the side, eyes closed as his smile widened by millimetres.

“I’m only saying that I’m an asset— An asset that has a notable history in solving cases.”

_Line. _

“And I’m probably the best shot you have at finding him.”

_Sinker. _

Whatever thinly-veiled threat Nijima was trying to hide behind formalities had been thrown out in the open now, a frown on her lips and her eyes casting daggers at him. In contrast, Goro only continued to smile that ever-pleasant, TV-ready smile at her.

_Come on, Nijima. You know you can’t pass this up, not when your sister knows how good I am. _

Minutes had passed before his words seemed to _really_ sink in Nijima’s head, and all the while, Goro kept his gloved hands out in the open, grin on his lips and eyes surveying what remained of The Metaverse. When she’d spoken again, it was with a grimace and her back turned to him as she made to slip back under the police tape.

“_Fine_. I’ll let you have a look. Tell me what you know about The Metaverse.”

“A stage took up most of the back portion of the first level, and next to the bathrooms, there was a pretty big bar to the right of the entrance.”

Goro followed the woman as he spoke, hands gesturing vaguely, and as he did, he made to eye the surrounding area, the faces of cops he didn’t recognise. He’d had his fair share of cases working alongside task forces, but it seemed none of the members of which were trying to solve the curious case of Akira Kurusu. Stepping closer to the wreckage, he shrugged to himself, almost nonchalantly. _Almost_.

“If I had to guess, the bar was set on fire to cause _this_ much of a destruction.”

“That, he did,” Nijima hummed, standing beside him as she looked over where the entrance to the club once was, her feet just at the edge of the short staircase that led down, “We had him surrounded here.”

“Hm. Where did—”

“_Nijima._” Goro’s eyes flicked to the left, past the woman and towards a taller, buffer officer. For a second, he returned the contempt in the gaze of the other, only for a small smile to rewrite whatever traces were left on his features just as quickly. “Why is there a civilian here?”

“He’s not a civilian, _Akiyama_,” Nijima shot back, and though her stare was aimed at the other officer (_Akiyama_, as he’d caught) Goro could just about picture the glare casting over her eyes, the venom in her voice just _dripping_ into her words, “He’s a colleague. He can contribute to this case.”

Akiyama’s eyes cast over to him now, and Goro would stand his ground, gaze up to him and pleasant smile on his lips. With a short, quick bow of his head, he’d introduce himself.

“My name is Goro Akechi. I was a frequent visitor to the club.”

“How’s a _frequent visitor_ even going to help us, Nijima?” Akiyama sneered, and it was at this moment that Goro decided he wanted to punch a man. “He can’t contribute jack _shit_ and you know it.”

“Well, in case you’ve forgotten, _Officer _Akiyama, _I’m _leading this case. What I deem important to solving it is on _my _say.”

Again, the officer’s eyes shifted from Nijima, to Goro, and with a final huff and a barely-hidden curse beneath his breath, he’d disappear into the alleyway next to what remained of the club. Goro only retuned Nijima’s stare after seconds of watching where the other officer had gone to, unsure if it was whether because he waited for a jackass to come back with a half-assed final remark or if it was because he waited for _something_ to pop out from there— but when he _did_ catch those dark, crimson eyes trained at him once again, he shook his head, lips dropping into a small frown and eyes beholding (finally) the weight that he’d carried.

“I think it’s best we talk about this in a more private place.”

It was how he found himself sitting before a white table in a small, confined room, white walls closing in on him with bright lights hanging above his head, a wide mirror to his right. He’d seen these rooms before, though it was usually on the other side of that mirror.  
Looking up at the lights for just ever so briefly, he glared at it, memories of a boy with brown hair yelling in both desperation and pain flashing to his mind— and with it, a phantom pain beating against the back of his skull.

Of course it had to be in an interrogation room.

“I suppose I have the right to contact a lawyer, the right to remain silent, all of that?” he tried, a brief smile falling over his lips as he made eye contact with the brunette officer sitting across from him. Nijima’s face remained cold and stoic as she stared at him, a thick binder in her hand as she crossed her arms over her uniform.

“It’s not exactly a secret that you were in contact with Kurusu, Akechi. What do you know.”

It was voiced as less a question and more of a demand. At that, Goro leaned back in his chair, gloved hands on his lap as he interlaced his fingers together. So he’d been branded as a person of interest in the case already.

He wasn’t surprised as much as he was curious why the other officers at the scene never seemed to recognise him as such.

“I know as much as you do. The Metaverse is gone and so is Kurusu.” His head tilted to one side, eyes casting over the binder she held just ever so briefly before they’d returned to her hard stare. “But obviously, I didn’t know him as much as I thought when I found out just this morning that he’s a criminal with an extensive record.”

“You’re _close_.”

_Oh_.

How did she know _that_?

“We talked occasionally.”

“You were seen together on multiple occasions outside the club.”

“Because we only _happened_ to see each other.”

“You visited him often at Café Leblanc while he worked.”

Goro felt his lips tug into a smirk.

_Check already? _

“And that’s not public knowledge.”

Goro crossed his legs beneath the table, his left hand coming to rest upon its surface as he tapped his fingers against it almost _rhythmically_. It was as they said, _seize the opportunity_.

“There are only a select few who know that Joker works as something other than a DJ and a club-owner, Officer Nijima. Why—or rather, _how_—pray tell, do you have that information?”

Though the woman didn’t stutter in her response, Goro saw the defensiveness in her stiffened posture, the slightest furrow of her brows. There was a bit of disappointment in the back of his head, but it’d been overruled by what he was uncovering here.

“I visited the café once and saw him there.”

“Out in the backstreets of _Yongen-Jaya_?”

A big-name cop like Makoto Nijima wouldn’t be placed in a _residential neighbourhood_ of all places.

“And, if I may ask, who exactly _were_ the eye witnesses of us being seen outside the club? Is it from pure assumption or did you see us yourself?”

He could see her cracking now, just little by little.

“To immediately jump the gun that me and Kurusu were close friends, too. How does one come to that conclusion, Officer Nijima?”

He had her backed up into a corner. He was _sure _of it the moment Nijima averted her gaze.

“If I didn’t know better”—he smiled, corners of his lips curling as he zeroed in on her—“Well, I would assume that you saw these developing yourself. You’ve been stalking him.”

A beat of silence hung in the air between them at that moment, and in that time, Goro retracted his hand to once more rest on his lap as he looked at her, watched her turn around the options in her head. Though he had only made that argument and conclusion up as he kept speaking, the uncertainty in her gaze and the shifts in her body language told no other story. He hit the bull’s eye.

She was a sharp one, but years of reading body language and working as a detective made it child’s play for him to pick apart Makoto Nijima.

“So how’s about it, Nijima? Care to confess why you’ve been keeping track of Akira Kurusu’s life?”

He wasn’t sure if it was contempt swimming in her eyes or if it was the bitter aftershocks of being placed into checkmate. Goro counted the seconds as they stared into one another, each attempting to pick apart the secrets hidden between the umber and ruby flecks hidden within each other’s eyes, those that shone just ever so often beneath the bright, white light hanging above them. He kept his composure, kept his head levelled and his hands on his lap. If he thought about it, it was somewhat terrifying for him to find that it was still easy to turn the tables during an interrogation— As easy as it used to be for him, despite the long years that’d passed in-between _now_ and the _last time_ he saw rooms like this.

Well, _in person_, anyway.

The only sound that rang in the room next was the quiet _thump_ of the thick binder being dropped onto the table, right in front of him. Goro only eyed its dark grey cover for a bit, flicking his questioning gaze up to Nijima as if to ask for permission to reveal the contents within. After a quiet nod of her head, his fingers made delicate work to unpeel the cover and run his hungry eyes over the information laid before him.

Photographs. Time stamps. Dates and days of the week, the most notable one being the seemingly-endless string of _Wednesdays_.

“I’m sure you’re aware that Kurusu closed his club off on Wednesdays, correct?”

Goro nodded, the binder in his hands now as he made to take a closer look at just _what _he was seeing here.

“Do you know _why_ he chose Wednesdays in particular?”

_It’s because Wednesday is in the middle of the week, less likely for people to be out partying, _Akira once explained to him. Still, Goro shook his head quietly, lips pursed into a line as he turned the pages.

_11th of April, 20XX (Wednesday)  
Suspect left The Metaverse at 22:48. Black beanie and black trenchcoat as always. From Shinjuku, he walked to Shibuya and into an alley behind New Era Entertainment’s headquarters. He entered the building at 23:30 through a back entrance and exited at 00:58. Suspect arrived back at The Metaverse at 01:27. _

Attached to the report were photographs lining the top of the page, each at different locations. Goro recognised the street which led to Akira’s club, in the frame of which stood a lone man donned in all black, hands in his pockets and face to the ground. The next image was of the same man in a crooked, black suit, though from behind now. Goro’s eye caught on the red, square-ended tie around his neck, all until Goro’s gaze travelled to a stark white layered above his face. He only recognised that it was a mask with a wicked smile and wild scribbles forming its eyes and Cheshire grin (around which was straight, blonde hair) on the third photo, one that showed him emerging from a back door.

Flipping the page once more, he listened to Nijima’s voice.

“Even before I became an officer, there were rumours about people that ‘_delivered justice_’. It started at Shujin Academy with a P.E. teacher being exposed for abusing and”—she paused, an audible gulp swallowing down her throat heavily—“_molesting_ his students. The next incident didn’t come after half a year, with a notorious mob boss in Shinjuku scouting out high schoolers for special jobs.”

_18th of April, 20XX (Wednesday)  
Two of them again, the same tall man with the suspect. Black hair and blue eyes, possibly contact lenses. The tall man carried a bag. They left The Metaverse at 23:30 and arrived at Tatsuya Watanabe’s estate at 01:03, exiting at 01:55. _

Goro remembered seeing the news of that: Of New Era Entertainment’s CEO and a number of other executives being arrested for illegal prostitution and abuse of their company’s idols. He remained quiet as he skimmed the next few pages, analysing each photograph carefully as he did.

“These _‘people of justice’_ as some started calling them rose to popularity online once Ichiryusai Madarame was arrested for fraudulent paintings and heavy plagiarism. I could go on about the list of incidents that happened, but it always followed the same sequence.”

There was a photo of the man and his taller companion in the rain.

“The targets and their victims were sent an email threatening blackmail if they didn’t, and I quote, _“confess to your sins.”_”

Another in which the man in the black trenchcoat had one arm around the other’s shoulders, looking as if he limped with a trail of blood mixing with the puddles.

“And when they didn’t follow the demands, evidence of their crimes was sent to the police and broadcasted around the media. Articles would be published and spread through the internet, and it kept going—”

And then, Goro sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes narrowing into slits at a face he didn’t want to see again (not for a _long_ time) standing before the man in the black trenchcoat. Even just looking at the image, Goro could already hear his scratchy voice, that howl of a laughter that never had a care in the world.

“—Up until June of last year.”

It was then that he decided to look up at Nijima, jaw tightened as he grit his teeth. Sucking in a deep breath, Goro made an attempt to gather himself once he saw Nijima’s visible surprise at the cutting glare his stare had been set in, memories of Tokyo’s streets with a gun in his hands getting the better of him for a moment.

“Continue please, Nijima.”

With a gulp—heavy and a bit cautious—the woman breathed out and leaned over to flip the binder to its last pages for him. Looking over to the map of Tokyo instead, he tried to make heads or tails of the connections of locations circled in red marker, sticky notes next to each one that ran over the basics of buildings— places where this man draped in black and his partner paid a visit to, he guessed.

“I’ve been tailing them for the past few months and they always seemed to go to completely random places. There wasn’t a connection, the people who either owned or ran the businesses didn’t have anything that traced them back to a single link. This means that they haven’t stopped what they’re doing, but they’re onto _something_.”

Their eyes met.

“Something bigger than they’ve _ever_ done before.”

Goro closed the binder once more, setting it on the table before himself before he made to cross his arms. His eyes were set upon Nijima, and yet he wasn’t looking at her. It felt more like he stared past her, at the wall instead, as he retreated to his thoughts and let the information seep into his skull. In a second, his fingers were to his chin, his gaze falling upon the binder— and after a few beats of quiet, he hummed to himself.

“So you think Kurusu is one of these _people of justice_, and you’re trying to arrest him for _what _reason, again?”

“The reasons you hear on the news,” she said, her tone flat and cold. What surprised Goro was that, afterwards, she leaned into him, stare boring into him as she lowered her voice. “The reason I want to _find him _is because he’s done more good than the police ever have.”

He found his eyes snapping to meet with hers then, widened only slightly as he pursed his lips tighter. There was a question in his gaze, a push to make her keep talking.

His initial plan here was to get in good with the police enough to allow him to view the files they have on Akira. Nijima’s words.. They might’ve just changed things, even if only _slightly_.

“Look, I’ve been here long enough to know that we cover up too much for it to be considered _justice_. You’ve probably already figured out that those charges announced on the news were all false. I thought the orders we were given to arrest Akira Kurusu was because they finally accepted my hypothesis on who these blackmailing criminals were, but they came straight from the Chief himself: Find Akira Kurusu and neutralise him.

“Why would he know who Kurusu even _is_? Why does he want a _club-owner_ arrested with _these _charges? I couldn’t ignore it anymore, Akechi. It isn’t right— This isn’t justice.”

It took a few moments before Goro found himself breathing again, the air in his lungs held subconsciously as the officer before him spoke. Even _he_ could feel the weight in her words, see the burden on her shoulders. Her investigation on these _people of justice_ had been done on her own time, he realised— and though it still might’ve been with the intent to get his lover arrested for crimes he committed nonetheless of intent, corruption of who held the power in this country had choked her enough.

Maybe he could lend some of his trust to Nijima, even if it came in the form of a thin thread. If he knew Sae Nijima as well as he thought, then her little sister would’ve been raised to hold the same values and morality.

“Fine then,” he sighed, for maybe after far too long of a silence, “Say I believe you for five minutes. What do you plan to do if you find him?”

And Nijima seemed to falter at that. Goro saw how her gaze had shifted, how she’d hesitated just a bit as she leaned back into her seat. He heard her sigh as she looked up to the lights above them, eyes closing after a few seconds.

“I can’t ignore the good that he did for the people he saved. Though his methods are unjust, it’s hard to deny that he helped the oppressed through them.” She straightened up once again, a single finger tapping onto the surface of the table as she thought, gears behind her eyes turning. “He may be put into trial for the blackmail and breaking and entering, but that’s under the assumption that it’s all he’s done to do what he did.”

Well, Goro couldn’t say that was what he thought should happen, too— even if only it was the voice in his head that demanded judicial justice to be carried out that said it. The other part of him, though, yelled at that voice in his mind in protest.

“Am I right to assume that no one else in the force knows about this? About Akira turning into a _vigilante_?”

Nijima shook her head.

“I’ve told some higher-up’s about how Akira Kurusu _could_ be part of this group, but it was always rejected”—something bitter crossed in her eyes—“They never believed anything I said.”

_Typical_, he thought to himself.

_Leave it to the Tokyo Metropolitan Police not to listen to a rookie— Even if she **was** brilliant and graduated top of the Academy. _

“So they most likely don’t believe it, then..” he hummed, flipping the binder back open to its last pages, “They don’t know about these locations, either..”

Then closed it, only to gather the binder in his arms as he stood up.

“Let’s make a deal, Nijima. Keep the police off the trail, I’ll look into this myself.”

She looked up at him then, eyes wary and sceptical.

“And what do _I_ get out of this, Goro Akechi?”

“The truth,” he said, “You and everyone else in this country will know _the truth_.”

* * *

Goro Akechi had worked many jobs in his life. After all, he had to pay for his dance lessons _somehow_; and so, he began part-time jobs alongside studying at a prestigious academy in the heart of Tokyo, if only in lieu of his extraordinary grades and yet another shift in prefectures.

There weren’t many that were initially willing to hire a fifteen-year-old with too many visible bruises and with eyes that looked dipped in ice. There weren’t establishments that couldn't even get him to the interview stages because of his not-at-all impressive resume, but he made a way. All his life, he _forged_ his paths with cut fingers that dripped with blood— how was getting a job any different?  
It’d taken a while before he could perfect a smile that could charm, even more before he could aptly use it. Six months away from his sixteenth birthday, he managed to get hired at a beef bowl place because of his pretty face. As time passed, so did the number of jobs he took on.

It was all fine and dandy. He was exhausted after his shifts, but still found the energy to attend dance classes. He maintained his good grades, danced to his heart’s content, and even had spare money after his expenses on the studio. Everyday life was busy, but it at least kept him away from the walls of the orphanage for as long as possible.

Goro never liked the orphanages. Not at _all_.

But it wasn’t too long after he’d blown the candle from a cake slice he bought one day in early June that he got it, though— A letter in the mail, the first domino that fell in the events that led to him keeping simply _one _job and a nice façade to go with it. His days at the orphanage may have been a blurred constant of pain and misery, but the delicate curve of his mother’s handwriting remained ever sharp in his mind, and hidden within the walls of the small bedroom he shared with four others, he read the words she’d parted to him— Breadcrumbs on the asphalt streets of Tokyo that spelled the name ‘_Tatsuya Shimomura_.’

What else did he have to do in his life?

“Little Prince!”

God _fucking_ dammit, he didn’t want to do this again.

“It’s been a while! You never visit!”

Goro pulled the gloves tighter over his hands.

“Got no time for me anymore, do you? It breaks my _heart_, just so you know!”

And then smashed his phone onto the ground, adding the heel of his shoe onto it for good measure as he stomped and pressed onto the shattered device. Watching him, the man’s eyes slanted even further with the smile curling up his lips, and like this, he looked more _fox_ than _slippery bastard_— to Goro, though, there had never been much of a difference.

“Think it might be bugged, hm?”—that smile quirked further up his cheeks, always so gaunt and sunken as if he were on the brink of death—"If you still worked for me, you would’ve gotten rid of it long before you even got here.”

“I don’t have time to reminisce on the past,” Goro replied, voice clipped and curt before he sighed. “I need info, Shimomura.”

Something had stirred within Goro when he saw the man’s face in one of the photographs in the binder he held, memories of a time in which he revelled in the glory of being praised as Tokyo’s very own Detective Prince mixing with memories of scouring the streets of the city in search for his targets. The targets _he_ had sent him out to look for.  
The man looked as much of a bastard as the last time Goro had seen him, his eye twitching as he watched him turn on his heel easily and start striding over to his desk, still pushed just before the wide, ceiling-high windows that overlooked Ikebukuro. When he was younger, Goro looked at the scenery before them much like he did now: Just the tiniest hint of wonder and amazement, clouded beneath the hand strangling his heart.

As he came to stand just before the man’s desk, though, he found his eyes drawn to the Shogi board on the table just paces away from it, for only the briefest of moments. There were new pieces of chess and Go placed there, evident in how much more cluttered the board had gotten since he last saw a glimpse of it.

_Focus. _

He tossed the binder onto the man’s table, arms crossing over his chest after so. His stare bore into the other, whose grin was wide and toothy and whose fingers were eager to reveal what the binder held for him.

“A gift for me, Little Prince? You shouldn’t have!”

This man was going to run his patience dry in record time, he could just _feel_ it.

“Start talking. I know you hear all the voices in Tokyo, Shimomura. I want to know what they say about Akira Kurusu.”

He swivelled around in his office chair now, binder held before his eyes as he flipped through page after page, reading what there was _to_ read and absorb for his unsatiable hunger for information. After Goro had finished speaking, though, that howl of a laughter echoed throughout the high ceilings of the penthouse, its sound grating Goro’s ears.

“Your little boyfriend? What _is_ there to say about him, Little Prince?” he laughed, words sputtering out through his huffs, “He moves quick and I like his style. The biggest thief Tokyo has to offer! Oh, did he like the present I gave him, by the way?”

Goro didn’t know anything about a _damn_ present, and at that point in time, he _really_ couldn’t give less of a _fuck_. The glare he threw at the man went unnoticed as he kept scanning the binder.

“Ah, so he really _did_ go above and beyond with the info he got off of me, hm?”

It was less of a question and more of a statement said into the air. Goro felt each individual fold of the leather as he balled his gloved hands into fists. Each passing second that he stood in one room with Tatsuya Shimomura felt like it chipped away at his patience and calm, collected demeanour— which he made no effort to hide, not _really_.

Goro’s eyes never wavered when the man before him had slammed the binder shut after getting to the last page, his gaze meeting with bright, yellow irises. With fingers interlaced under his chin, he’d leaned back into his office chair, the interest just _swimming_ in his cold stare.

“Aw, you’re not surprised. Did he tell you his secret already?”

He decided not to dignify it with a response. His lips had pursed into a tight, thin line and his arms remained crossed over his chest, stare unblinking. During a time not _too_ long ago, this man had known how to press all the right buttons to rip out whatever reactions he wanted out of Goro, how to make him dance to the beat of his drum like a puppet tied to strings— But things change, and it was high fucking time that Shimomura got the memo.

“Hm. Seems so.”

The man’s stare slid over to the Shogi board beside Goro then, and judging by the smile that curled up his lips alone, Goro already knew what was coming.

“Fuck you, Shimomura.”

“I haven’t even said anything!” he chuckled, loud enough for his voice to reverberate amongst the walls, “But since you’re already thinking about it— Queen to D5 please, Little Prince.”

They wouldn’t move past this unless Goro moved his stupid chess piece for him, and so he plucked the white’s side Queen and placed it three spaces forward on the board— but not without a frustrated sigh escaping his lips.  
He wanted to be out of here as soon as was humanly possible, but Shimomura was the best information broker in Tokyo. Goro couldn’t ignore the fact that he’d been in contact with Akira (as this _person of justice_, anyway) too, so Fate had hit a double-whammy here with forcing him to pay a visit to his old.. _employer_, of sorts.

“_There_ we go, all caught up and everything. What do you want to know about Akira Kurusu?”

He breathed in deeply, air sucking into his lungs as he made a great attempt at collecting his thoughts. After he’d reopened his eyes (because he’d stopped thinking about it when he realised he’d close them when he tried to calm down) Goro found himself much more _intact_ than just a few minutes prior, even as the annoyance never left his eyes.

“What do you know about his current target?”

“Oh, you know, same as you,” the man shrugged, nonchalant, “Daddy dearest has more secrets than you’d be able to count. Your boyfriend’s been at it for almost a year, and _now_, well..”

That smile grew wider, an unspoken _“he’s disappeared off the face of the Earth” _hanging in the air. Goro made to shoo the thought away as he fired off his next question.

“Is _he_ the one that issued Akira’s arrest?”

The man formed a gun with his fingers, an eye closed as he ‘shot’ at Goro.

“_Bang_. Right on the mark. They’ve been planning it for months now from what I’ve heard, since around November. Old man plays it safe, I can give him _that_.”

He decided to ignore the voices gnawing at the back of his head.

“Where is he?”

“My bet is on the mountains in Nagano, but I can’t be sure. _Arsene_ has cleaned out every possible location here in Tokyo that even _remotely_ relates to the big man, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he went all the way and snuffed out every possible conspiracy he’s in on.”

“Last question,” Goro muttered, even as it was mostly to himself. Crossing the rest of the space, the palms of his gloved hands slammed against the mahogany desk, his frame leaning over the man who’d only casually, coolly stared back up at him. Something within those eery, yellow eyes shined at the well-hidden rage that sat amongst the umber and ruby flecks of Goro’s own irises, and Goro had to take one, final deep breath to keep himself collected.

“What did you tell him?”

“The truth,” the man replied simply, grin as wide as Goro’d ever seen it, “Oh, don’t _worry, _I never mentioned you in direct. Do you remember Jungian Psychology, Little Prince?”

His brows knitted together, lips tugging down in distaste as he continued to stare into the man’s eyes. Though all his previous attempts proved unfruitful, he still made a go at trying to search them, at peeking a glimpse of how the cogs in his head turned.

Still, as ever, all he saw was a veil and chaos.

“Each person makes and shifts masks. They do it to be seen a certain way, more often that not, to sway the individuals they face in their favour. Different personas for different people, but always with a shadow hanging over them. It’s only with _ego_ that they find their true selves.”

Goro’s eyes squinted into a glare.

“And why are you telling me this, Shimomura?”

“As a word of advice”—and again, that snivelling, conniving smile widened—“If you want to help out your little _phantom thief _so bad, I suggest you don’t get your ass on the next train to Nagano any time soon. You’re right _next_ to daddy dearest—”

The man’s flickered to the pendant hanging over him, the one around Goro’s neck.

“—And you’re good at putting on masks. Keep your back to the wall and your enemies close. When the time is right, put the bullet in his head yourself.”

At that, a _growl_ reverberated from deep within Goro’s throat, his lips forming into a sharp scowl.

“I’m not hearing this again.”

He snatched the binder off the desk.

“You can deny it all you want, Little Prince! Either way, it’s going to happen and you _know _it!”

That laughter echoed off the walls again.

“Fuck you, Shimomura.”

He turned to take his leave.

“Wrong person. I’m not Shimomura anymore, Little Prince.”

And would only look over his shoulder to cast one, last glare at the man.

“Fuck _you_, then, _Nakura_.”

Before he stepped out of the apartment and slammed the door behind him.

When Goro found his way home, the apartment had been empty. Ann was out, the lights were dimmed, and only a lone _“meow” _echoed into his ears once he closed the front door. Mona looked up at him with his big, azure eyes filled with curiosity as the dancer slipped out of his shoes at the entrance, and once Goro knelt down to give the cat a few scratches on its fluffy head, there was a tired look in his eyes and a sigh on his lips.

Next thing he knew, he was sitting on the floor with the cat in his arms as he hugged Mona close.

He couldn’t pretend that Akira’s disappearance hadn’t affected him. He couldn’t look at Mona and not think of a man with dark curls and a starlight-bright smile. He couldn’t keep himself together, unknowing whether or not the love of his life was even still _alive_. Seeing The Metaverse in ruins was like a punch to the face, the thing that really cemented that _this was happening_: That Akira was gone. That Goro didn’t know where he was. That he didn’t even know when—_if_—he would even be back at all.

A promise was a promise. That didn’t stop old, deeply-rooted fears from resurfacing within him.

It was maybe a few minutes into sniffling into the cat’s fur (Mona purring as he rubbed his head against Goro’s, maybe understanding that he needed the comfort) did Goro give Mona a chance to breathe. His eyes had reddened and wet streaks marked his cheeks. There was a hiccup stuck in his throat and there was a too-strong shake in his shoulders. Goro made an attempt at rubbing the tears away with the hand that didn’t hold Mona, and when his vision had cleared enough that salty water didn’t blur the corners, he once more looked at the cat.

What caught his eyes, though, was what hung off of Mona’s bright, yellow collar.

A curious peer from big irises like Mona’s, shiny as the day he’d first seen it. The pattern of its would-be fur resembled the cat’s, and a yellow scarf sat underneath its chin. Looking at it this close now, it seemed to have a thin line running across its cheeks, right underneath its eyes— Like a mask covered its face.

_Mona never had a pendant like this before.. _

The cat jumped out of his grasp.

“Mona, _wait up—_”

Goro gathered his briefcase off the floor as he ran after the cat.  
Mona had gone straight for Goro’s bedroom, slinking in through the small crack in the door easily— And all the while, Goro had his stare trained on the animal, socked feet nearly slipping in the hallway as he chased him into the familiar, pristine, white walls. For a second, his heartrate had spiked up as he looked around for the ball of black fur in the midst of the darkness, briefcase left on the floor, chest heaving slightly.

“_Meow_.”

His head snapped towards his desk.

Mona had hopped up from the chair onto the closed lid of his laptop, big eyes staring straight at him with an innocent look crossing over the blue. Behind the cat, its tail swished from side to side, head tilting a bit as he sat there. It was only after Goro had approached Mona slowly, did his eyes slide over to a bright red laid under his journal.

Another meow resounded to his ears once more as Goro slid it out, holding the envelope in his gloved hands. Opening the flap, a bright fuchsia stared back at him as he retrieved the cardstock, his eyes first squinting to better see the card in the darkness of his bedroom before they’d widened completely.

In his hands, he held “_La Justice._”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fingerguns  
hey y'all :^D  
eyrist is impulsive but also i want this to happen so here is the last track of m&m  
"but the story isn't even over!" i hear you say  
w e l l  
it's b e c a u s e 
> 
> book 2 is a thing LMAO  
y'all rlly think i would put time and effort into making up a series name for no other reason ?? p r e p o s t e r ou s smksmskmsk 
> 
> just to summarise, since the beginning i wanted to push myself. yes it was a story mostly made up as it went but also.. i wanted that divide. i wanted that stark contrast between books. i wanted to see if i could take myself far enough to write not o n e, but t w o multichaps. mixing and matching beheld all the worldbuilding, all the character arcs, all the fun "haha dumb boys who dance and play music" shenanigans. it was my attempt at writing romance and the stumbles that come with it. 
> 
> seeking silence.  
now th a t ' s where i'll really challenge myself.  
to mixing and matching's lightheartedness and fun, seeking silence is the grittier, more crime-focused aspect of this big story. it is where the tale continues and the end lays waiting. it will have fun (maybe) but i wanna get neck-deep into this whole p l ot.  
i mean i wanted that nice and slow transition from "boys figuring out feelings" to "boys with guns and handcuffs" to happen here, and i kinda did it !! seeking silence is more along the lines of,, 
> 
> hm. who knows ? :^) 
> 
> thank you so much for sticking with me on this ride. it doesn't matter whether you began reading last year or this year, if you've commented or not, if you've only read there silently and followed along with what this has become. thank you so much. i appreciate everyone that's stuck around or even gave m&m a chance. it's been such a long ride and i can assure you, that with seeking silence, there's still a ways to go before we see the end. 
> 
> but i'll stop talking now and let you read [the interlude](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24075715). 
> 
> listen list  
stelouse - shivers n gold  
prelow - mistakes like this  
bts - fake love  
opera house - apocalypse


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